CARICATURE 

THE  WIT  & HUMOR 
OF  A NATION  IN 

PICTURE,  SONG  & STORY 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  AMERICA’S  GREATEST  ARTISTS 

SPECIAL  EDITION 


CARICATURE 

(, EIGHTH  EDITION ) 


WIT  AND  HUMOR  OF  A NATION 
IN  PICTURE,  SONG  AND  STORY 


Grant  E.  Hamilton 
“ Zim  ” 

E.  Flohri 
Art  Young 
A.  S.  Daggy 
J.  M.  Flagg 
T.  S.  Sullivant 

R.  F.  Outcault 
Penrhvn  Stanlaws 

j 

F.  Nankivel 

S.  Werner 
“Gus”  Dirks 
F.  L.  Fithian 
“BB”  Baker 
J.  H.  Smith 
Sydney  Adamson 
Peter  Newell 

H.  C.  Greening 
C.  T.  Anderson 


Illustrated  by 


Frank  Snapp 
Arthur  Lewis 


Geo.  Herriman 
Geo.  R.  Brill 


J.  Conacher 
W.  M.  Goodes 
H.  M.  Wilder 
Jno.  Cassell 
Hy  Mayer 
C.  J.  Taylor 

T.  S.  Allen 
Bob  Addams 
Albert  Levering 
Malcolm  Strauss 
F.  H.  Ladendori 
Charles  Sarka 
R.  S.  Bredin 
Albert  Bloch 
Bert  Levy 
V.  A.  Soboda 
Fred  Lewis 
Gordon  Grant 
C.  Knowlton 


Burges  Johnson 
W.  J.  Lampton 
R.  K.  Munkittrick 


Poems 

Tom  Masson 
W.  D.  Nesbit 
Frank  H.  Brooks 


and  Stories  by 

Edwin  L.  Sabin 
Edward  W.  Barnard 
Eugene  Geary 


Carolyn  Wells 
Henry  Tyrrell 
and  others 


LESLIE-JUDGE  COMPANY,  225  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


. ' . " . 


. 


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> . i. 


THE  LADY  AND  THE  TIGER. 


Dear  Lady  of  the  quiet  eyes, 

It  is  my  fortune  oft  to  see 
Thee  stroke  thy  tiger  tendenvise , 
Thyself  lost  in  deep  r every. 

Dear  Lady,  in  these  days  and  weeks 
My  love  for  thee  has  slowly  grown ; 
My  ev'ry  thought  thy  vision  seeks  ; 

No  longer  is  my  heart  my  own. 

O,  lovely  hands,  O,  misty  hair ! 

And  skin  of  thine  own  l oses’  hue  ! 
To  worship  thee  so  finely  fair 
Is  giving  but  thy  beauty's  due. 

If  my  old  loves  these  words  should  hear 
It  would  not  make  them  sad  at  all. 
For  ’ tis  your  fate  to  be,  my  dear, 

.4  picture  hanging  on  my  wall. 

— Ethel  Augusta  Cook. 


THE  GARDEN  OF  A COMMUTER'S  WIFE. 


Lines  to  a Lady  in  Distr 


ess 


T ADY,  disappointment  stricken,  could 
you  note  my  pulses  quicken  and  my 
perturbation  thicken,  you  would  know  1 
sympathize.  For  I,  too,  have 
felt  affronted  when  I’ve  found 
my  ticket’s  wonted  price  has 
risen  — and  they’ve  grunted 
when  I’ve  voiced  my  hurt  sur- 
prise. 

Ah,  it’s  bitter  when  our  bub- 
ble of  delight  is  pricked  by  trou- 
ble, for  we  see  our  sorrow  double 
when  the  suds  are  in  our  eye! 

And  it’s  hard,  we’ll  grant,  con- 
cealing certain  petulance  of  feel- 
ing that  is  wont  to  come  a-steal- 
ing  when  we  see  our  money  fly. 

But  our  reason,  madam— rea- 
son should  control  the  subtle  trea- 
son of  our  passions — won’t  you 
seize  on  just  a shred? — I wish 
you  would!  Oh,  recall  how  Eve 
and  Adam,  though  a greater 
sorrow  had  ’em,  left  the  paradise 
forbade  ’em  with  what  fortitude 
they  could ! 

No,  they  surely  “hadn’t  ought 
to” — it’s  a pretty  pass  we’re 


brought  to — but  the  agent,  ma'am,  has 
naught  to  do  with  fixing  of  the  fare.  It 
is  Fortune,  ever  fickle.  Though  a slight 


resentment  prickle,  yet  I’d  pay  that 
other  nickel,  really,  madam,  I declare! 
For  I’d  like  the  matter  straightened, 
as  my  train  departs  at  eight,  and 
it  is  getting  rather  late,  and  I am 
furthest  in  the  line.  Madam, 
while  you  closely  care  for  earthly 
pence,  you  lose  your  fare  for  good 
Saint  Peter — won’t  you  therefore 
move? — it's  seven-fifty-nine! 

• — Cif/in  Carruth. 


THE  MILLENNIUM. 

Weary  Warbler — “ Say,  Dick,  what's  your  idea  of  heaven  ?" 
Lazy  Dick — “ A million  worms  and  no  bean-shooters!” 


Sibilant  Praise. 

One  of  the  ushers  approached  a 
man  who  appeared  to  be  annoying 
those  about  him.  • 

“Don’t  you  like  the  show?” 
“Yes,  indeed!” 

“Then  why  do  you  persist  in 
hissing  the  performers?” 

“Why,  m-man  alive,  I w-was- 
n’t  h-hissing!  I w-was  s-s-simply 
s-s-s-saying  to  S-s-s-sammie  that 
the  s-s-s-singing  is  s-s-s-superb. ” 

Half  of  the  world  don’t  know 
how  their  better  halves  live,  and  if 
they  are  wise,  won’t  try  to  find  out. 


M 


W 


T H 


O D E R N 


A Better  Atmosphere. 
'“THERE  has  been  speculation  along 
A various  lines  as  to  what  new  influ- 
ences would  be  apparent  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  voting  booth  and  the  whole 
environment  of  election  processes  if 
woman  should  get  the  ballot  in  States 
which  have  always  considered  voting 
man’s  peculiar  prerogative. 

The  most  casual  observer  knows  that 
election  day  does  not  develop  scenes  of 
courtesy  or  refinement  in  cities  and  dis- 
tricts where  men,  excited  by  partisan- 
ship, struggle  in  this  exercise  of  the 
chief  duty  of  citizenship.  Of  course 
there  are  cases  where  the  dignity  of  the 
duty  is  appreciated  and  illustrated  by 
men;  but,  on  the  whole,  the  incidents  of 
an  election  are  not  uplifting  or  inspiring 
to  the  young  who  may  witness  them. 

In  the  States  in  which 
woman  is  now  on  an  equal- 
ity with  man  as  to  the 
rights  and  duties  of  citi- 
zenship, there  is  unques- 
tionably an  advance  over 
old-time  election  meth- 
ods, and  the  whole  atmos- 
phere of  the  function  is 
cleaner  and  more  inspir- 
ing. The  courtesy  which 
men  of  all  stations  in  life 
instinctively  pay  to  wom- 
an impels  a greater  dig- 
nity and  a cleaner  habit 
at  the  polls,  and  it  rests 
with  woman  herself  to 
carry  this  changed  aspect 
of  the  duty  beyond  mere 
voting  and  into  the  ethics  of  politics  if 
she  shall  finally  win  the  fight  she  is 
waging. 

Arguments  the  “Antis’  Might 
Have  Used. 

A woman  was  struggling  in  the  river. 

“Throw  her  a plank!”  cried  the  Suf- 
fragist. 

“By  no  means!”  objected  the  Anti- 
Suffragist.  “See  how  well  she  does 
without  it !” 

(But  she  got  the  plank.) 

A woman  carded  wool  and  spun  it  at 
a wheel.  To  the  man  who  offered  ma- 
chinery to  ease  her  labors,  the  Anti 
said, 

“The  woman  has  always  carded,  spun 
and  woven.  To  rob  her  of  this  occupa- 


tion would  be  to  strike  a blow  at  her 
femininity — it  would  make  idle  hands 
out  of  busy  ones.  Who  knows  what 
temptations  would  assail  her  in  her 
new-found  leisure?” 

(But  she  got  the  machinery.) 

“Come,  let  us  reason  with  men  to 
make  the  world  better,”  said  the  Suf- 
fragist. 

“Why  should  we?”  said  the  indolent 
Anti.  “We  have  less  worthy  weapons 
that  have  always  worked  well.” 

(But  she  will  get  the  ballot!) 

— C.  Hiltan-Turvey. 

How  Could  She? 

Shortly  after  the  passage  of  the  Fif- 
teenth Amendment,  Harriet  Beecher 
Stowe  was  walking  over  the  Florida 
plantation  which  she  had  purchased  with 
a part  of  her  returns  from  “Uncle  Tom’s 


Cabin.”  Meeting  one  of  her  laborers, 
a white-haired  ex-slave,  she  said  to  him, 
“Well,  Uncle  Toby,  now  that  we  have 
all  worked  so  hard  to  get  you  the  fran- 
chise, I hope  you’ll  use  your  vote  to  get 
it  for  us  women,  too.” 

Uncle  Toby  straightened  the  shoul- 
ders bowed  by  decades  of  slavery  and 
regarded  his  mistress  with  a superior 
smile.  “Laws,  missy,”  he  answered, 
shaking  his  head  pityingly,  “does  you 
think  you  knows  enough  to  vote?” 


As  an  antonym  to  the  term  “vote- 
chasers,”  to  describe  the  suffragettes, 
some  one  has  christened  the  “antis” 
the  “vote-dodgers,”  in  compliment  to 
their  national  president,  Mrs.  Arthur  M. 
Dodge,  of  New  York. 


OMAN 

Argument  vs.  Sentiment. 

The  peculiarity,  the  well-nigh  invinci- 
ble strength  of  anti-suffragists  lies  in 
the  fact  that  their  “arguments”  are  not 
arguments,  but  expressions  of  feeling. 
“You  may  break,  you  may  shatter  their 
pleas  if  you  will, 

But  the  odor  of  sentiment  hangs  round 
them  still.” 

Anti-suffragists,  like  Bostonians,  in- 
habit a “state  of  mind.” 

Post-mortem. 

Wives  of  great  men  oft  remind  us 
We  our  wives  could  also  please, 

And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 
Life-insurance  policies. 

A Prophecy. 


The  suffragettes  were  upheld  by  the 
entire  body  of  W.  C.  T.  U.  throughout 
the  country,  and  they  are  now  coquet- 
ting with  the  brewers — hitherto  allied 
with  the  anti-suffrage  crowd.  The  get- 
ting together  of  the  “very  wets”  and 
the  “extra  drys”  is  one  of  the  features 
of  the  campaign  in  Wisconsin  at  the 
present  time,  where  the  constitutional 
amendment  on  suffrage  comes  before  the 
voters  next  fall.  The  aspect  of  a white 
ribboner  and  a rotund  brewer  cheek  by 
jowl  on  the  suffrage  platform  is  now  an 
actual  fact  in  the  Dairy  State. 


THE  REFINING  INFLUENCE  AT  THE  POLLS. 


It  came  to  pass,  on  the  steenth  day 
of  the  teenth  month,  that  Priscilla  Jaw- 
bones died.  Priscilla  and 
all  the  misconceived  tribe 
of  Priscilla  perished 
from  off  the  brains  of 
men.  And,  verily,  all 
the  Old-line  Publications 
stood  by  the  grave  of  Pris- 
cilla and  wept.  For  was 
not  Priscilla  a good  pro- 
vider? “Millions,”  said 
they,  “have  we  made 
from  the  weaknesses  of 
women!”  But,  even  as 
they  wept,  a resplendent 
glory  shone  round  about 
them — a glory  as  of  count- 
less bursting  gold  mines. 
And,  lifting  up  their 
eyes,  they  chanted  awe- 
struck halleluiahs:  “Yea,  millions  have 
we  reaped  from  the  weaknesses  of 
women;  but  henceforth  tens  of  billions 
shall  be  ours  from  the  mighty  strength 
of  women !” 


IN  THE  VERNACULAR. 

First  chauffeur — “ What  has  become  of  Aleck?” 

Second  chauffeur — ” He  hit  up  speed,  skidded  on  a skirt,  ran  into  consumption,  and  turned  turtle.” 


The  Modern  Simple  Simon. 

CIMPLE  Simon  met  a pieman, 

Going  to  the  fair; 

Said  Simple  Simon  to  the  pieman, 

‘‘Let  me  taste  your  ware.” 

Said  the  pieman  to  Simple  Simon, 
‘‘First  show  me  your  penny.” 

Whereupon  Simple  Simon  produced 
the  required  coin,  receiving  in  exchange 
therefor  a pie,  which  he  conveyed  to  his 
laboratory. 

Later,  at  the  fair,  the  pieman  was  ap- 
prehended and  placed  under  arrest.  ‘‘I 
find,  ” said  Simple  Simon,  displaying  the 
badge  that  showed  him  to  be  a pure- 
ifood  inspector,  ‘‘that  glucose  has  been 


used  in  making  the  crust  of  this  pie; 
also  an  inferior  quality  of  chemical  lard. 
Furthermore,  the  crust  is  underdone,  the 
pie  is  stale,  and  artificial  coloring  has 
been  used  on  the  raspberries  contained 
therein ; also  more  than  one-tenth  of  one 
per  cent,  of  benzoate  of  soda.  In  addi- 
tion, the  pie  is  under  weight.  We  in- 
tend to  make  an  example  of  your  case. 
The  pure-food  law  must  be  obeyed.” 

Said  the  pieman  to  Simple  Simon, 
‘‘Mercy!  My  debts  are  many !” 

Said  Simple  Simon  to  the  pieman, 
‘‘Indeed!  I haven’t  any.” 


Reno  laughs  at  locksmiths. 


Life  and  Love  and  Laughter. 

By  JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS. 

LIFE  and  Love  and  merry  Laughter — 
These  are  things  we  all  are  after. 
Win  the  second,  Love,  and  you 
Soon  will  have  the  other  two; 

Win  it  not,  and  you  will  be 
Bankrupt  in  the  blissful  three — 

You  may  Live  and  you  may  Laugh, 

But  the  harvest  will  be  chaff. 

Sure  Cure. 

Mrs.  Craivford — ‘‘Although  my  daugh- 
ter is  such  a big  girl,  she’s  still  afraid 
of  the  dark.” 

Mrs.  Crabshaw — ‘‘Don’t  worry  about 
that,  my  dear.  She’ll  soon  be  in  love.” 


“THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD.” 


ATTACK  BY  A SOCIAL  LION— ONE  OF  THE  PERILS  OF  OUR  CITY  HIGHWAYS. 


Degrees. 


Guide  for  the  War. 


Generous. 


Mrs.  Gramercy — “It’s  awful  to  have 
a jealous  husband!’’ 

Mrs.  Park — “But  it’s  worse,  dear,  to 
have  one  who  isn’t  jealous.” 

Z'"''  R1EVANCES  and  babies  thrive  on 
much  nursing. 


CO  FEW  the  rhymes  for  Italy, 

^ She’ll  have  to  make  war  prettily 
Or  else  conduct  it  wittily. 

And  as  for  that  of  Turkey, 

It  either  must  be  murky 
Or  else  perchance  be  jerky. 


Most  popular  car  in  town — Oscar. 


Weary  Willie — “That  old  Tightwad 
would  never  give  you  a nickel !” 
Tomato-can  Joe — “Yes,  he  would.” 
Weary  Willie — “For  what?” 
Tomato-can  Joe — “A  dime.” 

Are  the  wild  waves  ever  tamed? 


. MORE  LIKE  ONE. 

Checkers — “ I suppose  you  ’ve  often  been  mistaken  for  a man  ?” 


A <viatress — 4 4 N ever . Have  you  ? ’ ’ 


An  Attic  Idyll. 


The  Ruralite  Speaks. 


The  Weaker  Sex. 


By  CARLETON  G.  GARRETSON. 

I CLIMBED  to  the  dusty,  cobwebby 
' old  attic, 

And  rummaged  about  with  a youthful 
delight. 

Thrilled  with  sensations  extremely  ec- 
static, 

I gazed  at  my  toys — I’d  forgotten 
them  quite. 


T BELIEVE  a feller  owes  it  to  the  com- 
1 mun’ty  he  lives  in  to  keep  hisself 
slicked  up  good  and  fine.  I go  to  the 
barber’s  myself  every  year  or  two. 

Mirandy  wants  me  to  buy  a motor 
car,  but  I got  a kind  o’  notion  we  kin 
run  inter  debt  fast  enough  without 
speedin’  through  life  by  machinery. 


\X7 OMAN  is  known  for  her  curiosity — 
v v but  she  never  buys  foil-wrapped 
cigars. 

She  is  noted  for  her  love  of  trading 
stamps — but  she  doesn’t  buy  off-brand 
tobacco  to  obtain  the  profit-sharing  cer- 
tificates. 

She  is  ridiculed  for  her  fondness  for 


I found  my  old  cradle.  ’Twas  crudely 
constructed. 

(’Twas  naught  but  a soap  box  on  rock- 
ers, in  truth!) 

And  there  was  the  ragged  rag  doll  I’d 
conducted 

On  many  a stroll,  in  the 
days  of  my  youth. 

And  even  my  dear  Noah’s 
Ark!  It  was  broken; 

Still,  ev’ry  fragment  to 
me  was  as  gold, 

Standing  of  life’s  brightest 
days  as  a token, 

Flooding  my  soul  with 
the  fancies  of  old. 

There  in  a box  were  my  lit- 
tle kilt  dresses, 

Mittens  and  socks  and  a 
bonnet  or  two. 

Even  my  curls!  Ah,  those 
torturing  tresses 

That  caused  shrieks  of 
woe  as  the  comb  wrig- 
gled through ! 

I made  out  a list,  and  what 
pleasure  it  gave  me  ! 

“Why  should  you  lie 
there,”  thought  I,  “in 
the  dust? 

Relics  of  youth,  you  are 
destined  to  save  me  ! 

I am  dead  busted,  and 
save  me  you  must!” 

I rushed  to  a dealer  in  sec- 
ond-hand chattels; 

I showed  him  the  list  of 
old  duffle  I’d  got. 

I said,  “I  will  sell  it,  from 
tresses  to  rattles. 

How  much  will  you  give 
me,  good  man,  for  the 
lot?” 

The  bargain  was  made.  A 
receipt  I indited. 

With  joy  I’m  so  full  that  I hardly  can 
speak. 

And  this  is  the  reason  why  I’m  so  de- 
lighted— 

I’ve  rented  that  attic  for  ten  bones  a 
week ! 

Foolish  Query. 

He — “Why  do  you  have  that  copy  of 

Judge  on  the  piano?” 

She — “Why,  don’t  you  see,  I want  to 

play  some  jokes !” 


bargains — but  she  doesn’t  play  the 
penny  machines. 

She  is  said  to  be  foolish  about  dress  — 
but  she  isn’t  addicted  to  the  wearing  of 
no-space  collars. 

She  plays  bridge — but 
the  roulette  wheel  is  not 
one  of  her  failings. 

She  is  unwise — but  it  is 
generally  the  man  who  pro- 
poses marriage. 

She  can’t  see  a joke — 
but  she  isn’t  one. 

— Donald  A.  Kahn. 

Up-to-date. 

Visitor  (in  Red  Gulch 
Opera  House) — “What’s 
that  cast-iron-lookingthing 
over  there?” 

Alkali  Ike  — “That’s  a 
shooting  box.  They  have 
them  in  England, you  know. 
Great  scheme!  Gives  the 
boys  a place  to  settle  their 
differencesduring  theshow, 
confines  all  the  gun-play  to 
one  place,  and  doesn’t  dis- 
turb the  rest  of  the  audi- 
ence.” 

The  End  of  His  Love. 

YV7ITH  a wild  sob  she 
” fell  into  her  mother’s 
arms. 

“My  poor  child!”  the 
elder  woman  exclaimed. 
“What  has  happened?  Has 
he  struck  you?  Can  it  be 
possible  that  he  is  leading  a double  life?” 
“He  has  ceased  to  love  me!”  the 
young  wife  replied,  with  a hopeless 
wail. 

“Why  do  you  think  so,  dear?” 

“This  morning  I caught  him  combing 
my  silken  strands  out  of  his  hairbrush 
before  using  it  on  his  own  head  !” 

Advantage  of  Height. 

HE  tall  giraffe  had  quite  a laugh 
While  at  the  show  he  sat, 


Whenever  I come  acrost  a cemetary 
and  read  the  epitaphs,  the  thing  that 
impresses  me  most  ain’t  the  epi  so  much 
as  the  taffy. 


VERY  RECKLESS. 

Pat  (as  comrade  falls  from  sixth  story) — “ Hivins,  Moike  ! Look 
out  for  th’  beer  !” 

Whippin’  in  skule  may  not  make  a 
feller  any  clever’n  he  ought  to  be,  but, 
by  gum ! as  I remember  it,  it  useter 
make  me  smart  some ! 

Hidden. 

FULL  many  a rose  is  born 

To  bloom  and  blush  unseen; 

Full  many  a brand-new  overcoat 
Hides  a summer  suit,  I ween. 

Between  You  and  Me. 


MEW  YORK  streets,  like  Dead-sea 
* fruit,  have  turned  to  ashes. 


THE  sewing  circle,  now  and  then, 
Talks  about  the  best  of  men. 


Because  his  view  was  good,  he  knew, 
Despite  the  biggest  hat. 


THE  BLOOM 


“ Hair-cut,  please.” 

“ All  right ; leave  the  hat  here  and  come  back  in  an 
hour.” 


Jk 


“ Do  you  want  gas?” 

" Say,  Mister  Dentist,  I 've  heard  how  dangerous  that 
stuff  is.  I ’ll  take  electric  light.” 


Philanthropy  Made  Easy. 

The  Great  Self-help  Correspondence  Course  in  Charity  Giving. 


Lesson  I. 

DHILANTHROPY  is  fast  becoming 
* one  of  the  favorite  pastimes  of 
America.  Its  popularity  increases  each 
year.  For  gentle  diversion  and  whole- 
some relaxation  to  add  zest  to  life, 
there  is  nothing  like  philanthropy.  Any 
one  with  determination  who  will  set 
about  it  earnestly  can  become  a philan- 
thropist. First  of  all,  there  must  be 
that  dogged  determination  to  give 
money  away  or  die — the  will  that  knows 
not  the  word  failure.  One  must  have 
that  indomitable  will  that  never  gives 
up,  that  gains  strength  by  rebuffs,  that 
rejoices  in  failure  and  flourishes  on  dis- 
couragements and  keeps  on  fighting  and 
hoping  when  the  future  is  a dark  wall. 

Lesson  II. 

Now  that  you  have  mastered  the  first 
principle,  you  are  ready  for  the  second 
step.  The  next  great  obstacle  to  over- 
come is  to  find  someone  or  some  institu- 
tion that  is  willing  to  accept  philan- 
thropy. As  you  go  about  seeking  such 
a person  or  organization,  you  may  grow 
discouraged  and  heartsick.  But  always 
remember  there  is  no  success  without 
great  labor,  and  that  everything  in  life 
worth  while  has  to  be  gone  after.  In 
this  day  and  age,  when  there  are  so 
many  well-known  and  long-established 
philanthropists  in  the  field,  it  is  dis- 
couraging work  for  a new  and  wholly 
unknown  philanthropist  to  gain  admit- 
tance. He  may  have  to  knock  at  the 
door  time  after  time,  but  finally,  sooner 
or  later,  some  one  will  hearken  to  his 
cry  and  accept  of  his  big  heart,  for, 
after  all,  right  is  right  and  justice  tri- 
umphs. 


Lesson  III. 

Now  that  you  have  found  a person  or 
a board  of  directors  who  is  interested  in 
your  proposition,  approach  him  or  them 
most  carefully.  Be  your  own  natural 
self;  do  not  try  to  impress  on  them 
your  position  in  the  world.  Lead  up  to 


d‘> 


Usher — “ Are  you  a friend  of  the  groom  ?” 
Madam — “Oh,  my,  no!  I’m  the  bride’s 
mother.” 

the  subject  with  skill  and  get  their 
minds  in  the  right  mood  before  you 
come  to  the  point.  Be  kind  and  gentle 
to  them,  and  let  them  know  by  deft 
words  and  hints  that  it  is  they  who  are 
conferring  the  favor.  When  the  pro- 
fession is  so  overcrowded  you  cannot 
afford  to  run  any  risks.  Give  them  your 


1 ist  of  references  and  a tabulated  copy 
of  all  your  charities,  and  tell  them  of 
some  of  your  dreams  to  better  the 
world.  Get  them  interested  in  you,  in 
your  aspirations  and  hopes;  get  them  to 
sympathize  with  your  desire  to  uplift 
the  world,  so  that  it  will  become  a per- 
sonal matter  with  them.  Show  them 
that  the  world  cannot  be  bettered  unless 
some  one  is  willing  to  make  concessions 
— to  swallow  his  pride  and  accept  philan- 
thropy from  another,  even  though  it  be 
a comparative  stranger.  Once  get  them 
to  take  a personal  interest  in  you,  and 
their  heart  will  soften  and  you  will  have 
easy  sailing.  Then,  before  you  scarcely 
realize  it,  they  will  say,  “That  puts  it 
in  a new  light.  Yes,  we  will  accept  it 
under  those  considerations.” 

* « *t ' 

Lesson  IV. 

Now  that  you  have  got  some  one  to 
agree  to  accept  your  philanthropy,  don’t 
destroy  the  efficacy  of  your  good  deed  by 
dragging  it  down  with  too  many  pro- 
visos. Let  them  have  it  free  and  clear. 
Many  a budding,  philanthropist  has  over- 
leaped himself  too  soon  and  has  had  his 
benefaction  returned,  a white  elephant 
on  his  hands.  Give  it  to  them  to  do 
with  it  as  they  please,  for  such  things 
get  around  and  the  next  time  you  apply 
to  some  other  person  or  board  you  will 
be  met  by  a cold  and  uncompromising 

refusal.  — n»m.r  cny. 

a 

Overlooked. 

By  JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS. 

WHOSE  eye  is  fixed  on  morrow’s 
sun, 

And  careless  is  of  what’s  to-day, 

Will  miss,  I fear,  a deal  of  fun 

That  may  be  plucked  along  the  way ! 


THE  ARK  RUNS  ON  ARARAT  AT  FULL  SPEED. 


Muck-raker. 

By  J.  WILEY  OWES. 

MUCK  RAKER,  on  a cloudy  day. 
Raked  where  the  world  was 
making  hay. 

Beneath  his  slouch  hat  gleamed  the 
light 

Of  malice  and  envy  and  craft  and 
spite. 

And,  as  he  raked,  he  sighed,  “Ah, 
me ! 

That  I fmore  dirt  and  filth  might 
see !” 

And  ever  he  passed  the  mown  hay 
sweet, 

Seeking  for  muck  beneath  his  feet. 

He  brought  his  odorous  find  to  light 
And  magnified  it  to  human  sight. 

And  when  he  had  shouted  it  o’er 
and  o’er, 

He  eagerly  manufactured  more. 

The  judge  came  slowly  riding  by, 
And  looked  at  the  raker  with  keen 
gray  eye. 

And  then,  with  a mien  both  grave 
and  grim. 

An  injunction  issued  restraining 
him. 


DOOR  ideas  are  often  clothed  in 
* a wealth  of  words. 


A LADY  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  RAMESES. 
(Egyptian  bronze  portrait  statue — B.  C.) 

That  there 's  nothing  new  This  lady  of  the  Nile 

Is  very,  very  true,  Wore  just  our  style, 

And  it  s plain  enough  to  me  Curls  and  puffs  of  hair  ; 

In  the  ages  B.  C.,  Was  slim  and  debonair  ! 


Who  Will  Ride  the  Donkey? 

A LTHOUGH  put  forward  by 
h i s friends,  Congressman 
Underwood  avows  that  he  is  not 
seeking  theDemocratic  nomination 
for  President.  Speaker  Champ 
Clark  has  asserted  that  Missouri  is 
committed  to  another  and  that  he 
will  not  solicit  the  honor  for  him- 
self. The  peripatetic  Dr.  Wilson 
went  away  out  to  the  Ozarks  of 
Arkansas  to  say  that  he  is  “not 
now  a candidate  for  anything.” 
Bryan  is  out  of  it.  Unless  these 
distinguished  gentlemen  are  dis- 
sembling, Governor  Harmon,  of 
Ohio,  is  left  as  the  only  declared 
candidate,  and  he  is  not  on  the 
road  making  speeches,  but  is 
holding  down  a chair  in  his  office 
in  the  capitol  building  at  Colum- 
bus. 


Set  at  Rest. 

<(|  HEAR  that  your  wife  takes 
1 boarders. 

Is  there  truth  in  the  report?” 
quoth  she. 

“No  truth  whatever,  dear  madam; 
’Tis  only  a roomer,"  said  he. 


■■ i 


Primary  Lessons  in  Geography. 

Rivers. 

CARLETON  G.  GARRETSON,  Instructor. 

/CHILDREN,  you  have  all  doubtless 

seen  a river.  It  is  a long,  slender 
body  of  water,  surrounded  by  land  at 
every  point  except  where  it  enters  the 
ocean.  It  is  not  fed  by  means  of  its 
mouth,  as  are  the  rest  of  us;  but,  in- 
stead, it  is  fed  through  its  small  ex- 
tremities. It  takes  a river  a very  long 
time  to  make  its  bed,  and  even  then  it 
is  often  prohibited  from  lying  peacefully 
in  it  by  means  of  dams,  which  are  great 
piles  of  concrete,  rock,  and  sometimes 
graft,  that  hold  the  river  back  for  a 
while,  then  wash  away  and  give  imme- 
diate employment  to  the  undertakers, 
State  militia,  philanthropists,  and  news- 
papers. In  sections  where  the  rainfall 
is  exceptionally  heavy,  rivers  are  cov- 
ered with  watersheds,  so  that  the  rain 
cannot  roll  the  water  and  disturb  the 
fish.  Those  text-books  that  attempt  to 
make  you  believe  that  the  various  rivers 
rise  in  mountains  or  lakes  or  springs  are 
misleading  you,  as  a river  cannot  rise 
without  assistance,  according  to  the  law 


of  gravity — a law  which  has  been  in 
effect  ever  since  its  introduction  by  a 
Mr.  Newton,  and  which  makes  it  a penal 
offense  for  anybody  to  fall  upward  un- 
less propelled  by  some  external  force. 
Many  of  the  rivers  of  the  United  States 
are  navigable  to  other  vehicles  beside 
fish,  and  thousands  of  people  live  in 
houseboats  upon  them.  This  is  why  our 
floating  population  is  so  large.  There 
is  a beautiful  river  which  passes  by  Al- 
bany and  comes  to  New  York.  This 
river  has  never  been  dammed,  except  by 
steamboat  pilots  who  have  patronized 
its  sandbars,  which  have  no  license  to 
exist.  Their  troubles  have  been  due  to 
their  own  miscalculations,  of  course. 
Rivers  have  all  kinds  of  banks.  These 
are  often  strengthened  by  means  of  de- 
posits, and  sometimes  depleted  by  means 
of  changes  in  current  values.  Now,  the 
class  should  be  able  to  tell  a river  from 
an  ocean,  a quart  of  milk,  or  any  other 
aggregation  of  water. 

WIVES  of  fellow-men  remind  us 

We  can  make  our  wives  sublime, 
If  we  keep  our  dears  from  wearing 
Gowns  we  see  from  time  to  time. 


The  Next  Excursion  Idea. 


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Positively  No  More  than  One 
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Customer. 

WE  DEFY  COMPETITION! 


OF  SOME  USE. 


She — 11  What  are  the  higher  courts  for?” 

He — “ Why,  some  chaps,  you  know,  have 
money  left  when  the  lower  courts  get  through 
with  them.” 

Major  Archie  Butt  in  Gotham. 

By  WILLIAM  J.  LAMPTON. 

Those  of  us  who  couldn’t  get  quite  near  enoueb  to 
see  the  President  got  a good  deal  of  satisfaction  out 
of  a glimpse  of  Archie  Butt. — From  the  Chicago  Pott. 

LIKEWISE  did  little  old  New  York 
Enjoy  the  pleasing  view 
Of  Major  Archie  marching  round 
In  buttons,  lace,  and  blue. 

But  Archie  is  no  dove  of  peace, 

For  by  his  soldier  charms 
The  ladies  dropped  the  ballot-box 
And  strove  to  rush  to  arms. 

P.  S.  Archie  got  away,  as  usual. 

Mary  Again. 

MARY  had  a little  lamb. 

For  which  she  didn’t  care; 

She  cut  the  wool  from  off  its  back, 
And  now  it  is  a little  bare. 

No  Room  for  End-seat  Hog  in  Church. 
/'"'\UT  IN  Ohio  a crusade  has  been 
started  against  the  end-seat  hog  in 
churches.  The  custom  of  the  first  comer 
monopolizing  the  end  seats  in  church 
pews  is  now  selfish.  There  was  a time 
when  it  was  justified.  The  head  of  the 
family  would  take  the  end  seat  so  as  to 
be  ready  to  protect  his  loved  ones  in 
case  of  an  attack  by  Indians.  There  is 
not  much  danger  now  of  such  attacks, 
and  the  Christian  spirit  can  be  displayed 
when  the  first  comer  moves  along  and 
gives  his  brother  or  sister  the  choice 
end  seat. 

Education. 

Knicker — ‘‘Is  Smith  taking  a course 
in  a correspondence  school?” 

Bocker — ‘‘Yes;  he  is  learning  the  col- 
lege yell  by  phonograph.” 


Misrepresentation. 
<‘V/OU’VE  spoiled  the  sale  of  my  new 
^ novel!” 

‘‘What’s  the  matter?” 

‘‘You  reviewed  it  under  the  heading 
‘Recent  Books,’  and  the  printer  made  it 
read  ‘Decent  Books,’  instead.” 

The  Mrs.  Misses  the  Misses. 

By  J.  W.  BURGESS 

TF  A WOMAN  has  one  daughter,  who 
goes  away,  the  Mrs.  misses  the  Miss 
and  the  Miss  misses  the  Mrs.  If  she 
has  two  daughters  and  both  are  away, 
the  Mrs.  misses  the  Misses  and  the 
Misses  miss  the  Mrs.  If  she  has  three 
daughters,  and  two  are  at  one  place  and 
one  at  another,  the  Mrs.  misses  the 
Miss  and  the  Misses,  and  the  Miss 


A brilliant  young  chap  from  Fargo, 

Fell  in  love  with  a peach  from  Chicago ; 

He  said,  “ Be  my  wife, 

And  sail  through  life 
As  my  own  dear  little  she-cargo.” 

misses  the  Mrs.  and  the  Misses.  If  it 
is  four  daughters  she  has  and  two  are 
at  one  place,  while  the  other  two  are 
away  from  home  and  separated,  the  Mrs. 
misses  the  Miss  and  the  Misses  and  the 
Miss,  and  the  Miss  and  the  Misses  miss 
the  Misses  and  the  Mrs.,  while  the 
Misses  miss  the  Mrs.,  and  the  Miss 
misses  the  Miss  and  the  Misses  and  the 
Mrs.  So  they  would  all  better  remain 
at  home  with  the  Mr.  of  the  Mrs. 

Considerate. 

Jaggs — ‘‘I  want  you  to  help  me  pick 
out  an  auto.” 

Loan  shark — ‘‘Why  me?” 

Jaggs — ‘‘You’ll  probably  own  it  in  a 
short  time.” 


MALICE  PREPENSE. 

“ George,  father  advised  me  last  night  that  I 
must  not  have  you  call  on  me.” 

“ I think  you  misunderstood  him,  dearie. 
Why  he  gave  me  a cigar  this  morning.” 

“ Oh  ! Then  you  haven’t  smoked  it  yet.” 

Wait  a Bit! 

’’"PRENTON  has  had  the  commission 
form  of  government  only  a few' 
weeks.  Nevertheless,  the  statement  is 
made  that  an  annual  saving  of  $30,000 
has  been  effected.  This  news  may  be 
cheering  to  taxpayers,  but  they  will  be 
better  satisfied  if  the  saving  material- 
izes at  the  end  of  the  year.  Cities 
often  get  municipal  reform,  but  not 
often  do  they  get  reduced  taxes.  Some- 
how, promises  of  such  reductions  rarely 
take  substantial  form  or  show  on  tax 
bills. 


The  Gentle  Retort. 

TIE  WAS  always  trying  to  be  funny. 
A A There  may  be  husbands  more  in- 
tolerable than  that,  but  not  many.  She 
had  been  caught  in  a storm  and  was 
telling  him  about  it. 

“The  rain  came  on  so  suddenly  that 
I had  hardly  time  to  put  up  my  um- 
brella’’— 

“Did  you  put  it  up?”  he  interrupted. 

“Of  course  I did,  and  as” 

“What  did  you  get  on  it?”  he  inter- 
rupted with  the  time-worn  solecism. 

“I  got  rain  on  it,  of  course.  What 
did  you  think  I got?” 

And  he  looked  seriously  injured  by  her 
lack  of  appreciation  of  his  wit. 


Suggestive. 


MISTAKEN  IDENTITY. 


She — “We’re  good  friends.  How  do 
you  like  my  new  hat?” 

Her  neighbor — “Why  not  remain  good 
friends?” 


A Problem  in  Mathematics. 

'TTIERE  is  a certain  instructor  in 
mathematics  in  a Washington  in- 
stitution who  is  beginning  to 
wonder  whether  his  five-year- 
old  son  is  going  to  inherit  his 
mathematical  temperament. 

On  one  occasion  the  father 
and  mother  of  this  youngster, 
while  visiting  a resort  near  the 
capital,  were  watching  the  boys 
and  girls  swing  the  circle  on  a 
merry-go-round.  The  father 
commented  upon  the  sight  pre- 
sented by  one  small-sized  young- 
ster astride  a huge  lion,  and, 
as  he  did  so,  noticed  a serious 
look  on  the  face  of  his  own  off- 
spring, who  was  standing  be- 
side him. 

such  a solemn  ex- 
Tom?”  asked  the 


WELL  RECOMMENDED. 

Housewife—''  Have  you  a reference  from  a former  em- 
ployer?” 

Housemaid — “ Yes’um  ; I have  eighty-six  of  ’em  !” 


A Remarkable  Woman. 

“T  HAVE  frequently  heard  that  Mrs. 

Wattles  was  rather  light  in  the 
mental  department,  but  I have  become 
convinced  that  she  is  a sensible,  level- 
headed woman.  It  is  my  opinion,  in 
fact,  that  she  is  one  woman  in  ten  thou- 
sand.” 

“What,  if  I may  ask,  has  caused  you 
to  gain  such  a high  opinion  of  her?” 
“She  was  here  for  an  hour  yesterday 
and  never  raised  a single  objection  to 
the  manner  in  which  we  are  raising  our 
baby,” 


“Why 
pression, 
father. 

“I  was  just  wondering,” 
said  Tom,  who  had  had  one  ride 
and,  having  a ticket  for  another, 
wished  to  use  it  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage, “whether  I would  get 
a longer  ride  than  I had  on  the  horse  in 
the  inside  circle  if  I rode  on  one  of  the 
lions  on  the  outside  row.” 


The  Boast. 

«I  AM  the  originator  of  the  back-to- 
* the-land  movement!”  Nebuchad- 
nezzar cried. 

Bitterly  he  watched  the  lesser  lights 
steal  it  from  him. 


’T’HE  real  value  of  a baby  can  never 
A be  determined  by  the  size  of  the 
stork’s  bill. 


A Needed  Version. 

"THE  SHOUTING  and  the  tumult 
grows, 

The  gust  of  passion  swells  and  blows — 
Lord  God  of  hosts,  be  with  us  all, 

Lest  we  recall,  lest  we  recall! 

Heroes  of  Poverty. 

DRESIDENT  TAFT,  in  his  speech  at 
1 the  Minnesota  State  University, 
reverted  to  the  magnificent  opportuni- 
ties offered  in  the  United  States  for  the 
poor  young  man.  He  added,  “If  there 
is  anything  that  is  an  obstacle,  that  is 
difficult  for  a young  man  to  overcome, 
it  is  an  income  that  will  enable  a young 
man  to  live  without  work.”  This  is  in 
line  with  the  popular  fashion  of  expres- 
sion on  the  subject.  The  matter  is  one 
on  which  there  should  be  discrimination. 
If  a young  man  be  thorough,  if  he  have 
the  right  qualities,  it  is  better  for  him 
to  have  an  income  already  earned  for 
him  than  to  be  under'  the  necessity  of 
earning  one.  The  income  gives  him  so 
much  the  better  start.  Ours  is  a coun- 
try of  opportunity  for  all,  rich  or  poor. 
In  practice,  the  man  of  ability  will  make 
his  way,  regardless  of  riches  or  poverty. 
Theory  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding, 
a man  who  starts  to  fight  the  battle  of 
life  will  find  an  income  to  be  a help. 
Poverty  has  its  heroes,  but  every  one 
prefers  not  to  be  one  of  them. 


'“PHERE  is  a vast  difference  between 
A a mining  strike  and  a mine  strike. 


ON  HER  DIGNITY. 

Irate  maid — “ An’  did  ye  think  Oi’d  shtand  th’ 
impertinence  av  th’  loikes  av  yer  childrun  a-call- 
in’  me  be  me  furst  name  ?’’ 


“ Yes.  I want  all  the  snow  cleared  away  How  long  will  it  take  you  ?” 
“D’yez  pay  by  the  day  or  the  job?  ’’ 


No  Room  for  Crinoline. 


Mrs.  and  Mr.  A.  M.  Bitious 

{urgently)  request  the 
pleasure  oj 

Mr.  Eligible  Man  s 
company  on 

Tuesday,  November  1 3,  IQII, 
to  meet  our 

{marriageable)  daughter 

Miss  I to  Am  A.  M.  Bitious. 

34  Etiquette  Boulevard. 

J to  7,  Inspection. 

7 to  12,  Dancing. 



Famished. 

TALK  about  being  hungry ! 

I was  hungry  as  a bear; 

So,  walking  into  a dairy  lunch, 

I ate  off  the  arm  of  a chair. 

r"PHE  Emperor  of  China  has  signed  an 
*■  edict  dismissing  obnoxious  minis- 
ters and  granting  a liberal  constitution 
to  the  country.  The  Emperor  of  China 
is  five  years  of  age.  Young  blood  will 
tell. 


“ Well,  boys,  why  are  you  working  so  hard  ?” 
“ The  man  in  there  said  he  lost  ten  cents  and 
that  we  could  have  it  if  we  found  it.’’ 

IF  A BODY  be  presented 
A With  a bottle  of  rye, 

Need  a body  at  one  sitting 
Drain  the  bottle  dry? 

A Self-made  Beauty. 

i<CHE  dresses  with  great  pains.” 

“Yes;  her  shoes  pinch,  her  corset 
is  too  tight,  and  she  frequently  scorches 
herself  with  a curling  iron.” 


HE  REVIVAL  of  crinoline  for 
women  is  proposed.  An  effort  in 
that  direction  was  made  about  twenty 
years  ago,  but  the  shouting  and  tumult 
of  protest  were  so  general  that  the  res- 
toration did  not  come  to  pass.  Hoop 
skirts  and  crinoline  were  in  vogue  dur- 
ing the  Civil  War  and  for  a few  years 
before  it  broke  out.  In  those  times  it 
was  no  uncommon  sight  to  see  a woman 
enter  a street  car  and 
spread  out  her  skirts  so 
that  she  occupied  space 
that  would  have  given 
seats  for  three  passen- 
gers. Nor  was  it  uncom- 
mon for  some  desperate 
men  to  plump  themselves 
down  on  these  skirts. 

Such  incidents  sometimes 
led  lovely  women  to  use 
unlovely  words.  If  crin- 
oline were  to  come  back 
and  a woman  should  un- 
dertake to  appropriate 
three  seats  in  a street 
car  during  the  rush  hours 
for  herself  and  skirts, 
there  would  be  interest- 


ing results.  The  prediction  may  be  made 
that  the  wearing  of  crinoline  will  not  be 
revived  to  such  an  extent  chat  you  could 
notice  it.  The  streets  and  transporta- 
tion vehicles  are  more  crowded  than  they 
were  fifty  years  ago.  Perhaps,  too, 
there  isn’t  as  much  gallantry  as  there 
was  half  a century  ago  and  the  chap  who 
would  sit  on  the  spreading  skirt  of  a 
young  woman  has  grown  in  numbers. 


“ Ye'd  better  stop  throwin'  snowballs  at  me,  Katie.  First  thing 
ye  know  ye'll  break  that  window.” 


CEATED  about 
the  grocery 
stove  were  several 
elderly  gentle- 
i.ien,  each  with 
plenty  of  hirsute  adornment  and  time 
to  spare. 

“ Whar’s  George  Potts  this  morning?” 
inquired  William  Swink,  noting  the  ab- 
sence of  a regular  visitor. 

‘‘I  calc’late  he’s  in  rather  dost  prox- 
imity to  the  handle  of  a wringer  jest 
now,”  observed  Uncle  Silas  Wilson. 
‘‘George’s  wife  keeps  him  thar  till  every 
rag  is  washed  on  a Monday.” 

The  grocery  cat  at  this  moment,  hav- 
ing just  completed  a lazy  trip  to  the 
numerous  mouse  traps  about  the  store, 
jumped  up  on  the  counter  and  settled 
down  near  the  feather  duster  for  a nap. 

Peter  Swink,  William’s  elder  brother, 
pulled  thoughtfully  at  his  long,  white 
beard  and  was  about  to  launch  forth  in 
a monologue  on  the  negro  problem. 
Fearing  something  of  the  kind,  Uncle 
Silas  hastened  to  divert  his  train  of 
thought. 

“Peter,”  he  inquired,  with  deadly  in- 
tent in  his  eye,  “how  much  does  that 
cat  weigh?” 

Peter  Swink  coughed  slightly.  “Must 
be  out  o’  cigars,  Silas,  to  ask  a question 
like  that.  Can’t  get  up 
a bet  with  me,  though; 

I’ve  still  got  one. ” 

“Wall,  jest  fer  a guess 
then,  Peter,”  insisted 
Silas,  dreading  the  out- 
break of  the  negro  prob- 
lem, which  Peter  loved  to 
discuss.  “I  ain’t  weighed 
many  cats  lately,  and  I 
jest  hev  a curiosity  t’ 
know.” 

Frank  Smith,  the  good- 
humored  grocer,  placed 
the  feline  on  the  scales. 

He,  too,  was  glad  to  in- 
terferewith  oneof  Peter’s 
oratorical  flights. 

“Ten  pounds  and  a half, 
she  weighs,”  he  an- 
nounced, seeing  no  wagers 
in  sight. 

“Right  smart  weight 
fer  a cat,  I should  think,” 
observed  Uncle  Silas 
sagely.  Then  he  added, 

“Here  comes  George 


By  ROBERT  C.  McELRAVY. 

Potts,  at  last.  Mebbe  George  c’n  guess 
its  weight.” 

The  assemblage  rose  to  the  occasion 
with  a single  purpose.  George  Potts 
was  known  as  the  closest-fisted  man  in 
town.  No  one  had  ever  been  known  to 
worst  him  in  a wager  or  get  ahead  of 
him  in  any  deal  involving  finances. 
Here  seemed  a promising  opportunity! 

“Morning,  everybody !”  greeted  Potts, 
backing  up  to  the  stove  and  chewing  on 
a dried  peach  he  had  pilfered  en  route 
from  the  front  door. 

“We  war  jest  debatin’,  George,”  ex- 
plained William  Swink,  in  non-committal 
tones. 

“You  gen’rally  air  debatin’  some- 
thing,” interpolated  Potts. 

“Yes;  but  we  were  all  sort  of  feel  in’ 
th’  need  for  a seegar,  and  th’  question 
rose  as  to  the  pro-bubble  weight  of  that 
cat.  I can’t  see  any  reason  why  you 
shouldn’t  guess  along  with  th’  rest  of  us, 
ef  you  feel  sportingly  inclined.” 

“Wall,”  replied  Potts  thoughtfully, 
“I  been  so  busy  with  th’  washin’  this 
morning  thet  I ain’t  smoked  yet.  Mebbe 
when  you  fellers  air  through,  I might 
take  a chanst.  ” 

A sigh  w^nt  up  from  the  group  about 
the  stove.  The  grocer  leaned  forward, 
on  fire  with  interest.  The  bare  possi- 


RANK SMITH,  THE  GOOD 
PLACED  THE  CAT  ON 


bility  of  “stick- 
ing” George  Potts 
for  cigars  all 
around  was  better 
than  a horse  race. 

“What  would  you  say  the  cat  weighs, 
Silas?”  questioned  Peter  Swink,  setting 
the  ball  in  motion. 

“I  hain’t  much  i-dy,  I’m  sure,”  re- 
plied Uncle  Silas,  not  wishing  to  appear 
over-confident.  “Ten  pounds,  perhaps.” 

“Ten  pounds,”  repeated  Peter  Swink. 
setting  the  guess  down  on  a slip  of 
paper.  “What  do  you  say.  Dad?”  turn- 
ing to  Dad  Smith,  a quiet  member  of 
the  circle,  who  seemed  to  be  restraining 
a desire  to  laugh. 

“ ’Bout  ’leven  pounds,  I’d  say,”  re- 
plied Dad,  in  offhand  tones. 

“Too  heavy!”  commented  William 
Swink,  winking  at  the  grocer.  “I’ll 
make  it  nine  pounds.” 

Peter  Swink  laughed.  “Twelve 
pounds  is  my  guess,”  he  announced. 

A low  whistle  went  up  from  the  lips 
of  George  Potts.  They  all  looked  ex- 
pectantly toward  him. 

The  conspirators,  without  having 
guessed  the  actual  weight  of  the  feline, 
had  covered  the  ground  well  on  both 
sides  of  it. 

Potts  drew  a very  long  face. 

“You  fellers  seem  to 
hev  a su’prisin’  similarity 
of  views  on  this  ques- 
tion,” he  remarked. 
“Never  saw  you  agreed 
so  dost  on  anything 
afore.  A-body  might  al- 
most think  you’d  been 
deal  in’  in  cats  every  day, 
frum  the  way  you  guess 


The  group  about  the 
stove  stirred  nervously. 
They  had  not  anticipated 
this  tension  at  the  last 
moment.  What  they 
wanted  was  a cigar 
apiece  and  a chance  to 
laugh  at  George  Potts. 

“Now,”  ruminated 
Potts,  “I’m  free  to  con- 
fess that  I ain’t  much  up 
on  th’  weight  o’  cats.  I 
c’n  guess  hosses  and  cat- 
tle purty  well,  but  cats  is 
different.  ” 

Uncle  Silas  laughed 


HUMORED  GROCER, 
THE  SCALES.” 


NoGood*; 

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TjP  SPAWN'S 

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BLEACHED 
a tj  I.OCK.ED 


§i  sanitarium 

BOOKINGS  MA06 

I ° heae 


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OUR  DRUG  STORES. 


Stranger — (after  looking  about) — “ Can  you  tell  me  where  I can  buy  some  quinine  pills?” 


nervously.  “Come  along,  George  ! Take 
a chance  fer  once  in  your  life  !”  he  urged. 
The  group  about  the  stove  settled  back 
complacently  at  this. 

But  it  did  not  seem  to  be  the  Potts 
nature  to  take  chances. 

“I’m  inclined  to  think  Uncle  Silas 
used  purty  good  jedgment  in  his 
guess,’’  mused  Potts.  “A  likely  cat 
ought  to  weigh  somewhere  around  ten 
pounds.” 

The  grocer  and  the  group  about  the 
stove  held  their  breath. 

“But  this  cat,  here,”  said  Potts 
slowly,  “has  an  uncommon  lot  of 
fur.  Now,  o’  course,  fur  don’t  weigh 
much,  but  it  weighs  somethin’.  Still, 

I don’t  think  it  would  weigh  e-nuff 
to  make  a full  pound,  which  would 
be  eleven  pound  all  told.  Besides,  I 
couldn’t  guess  that,  because  Dad 
Smith  said  eleven  pound,  and  Peter 
Swink  said  twelve,  as  I remem- 
ber.” 

“That’s  right,”  came  a voice  from 
the  stove  group. 

“I  couldn’t  say  less  than  ten 
pound,  because  William  Swink  here 
guessed  nine  pound,  and  my  jedgment 
wouldn’t  let  me  go  less’n  that  figger 
under  any  circumstances.” 


The  group  about  the  stove  seemed  lost 
in  one  wide-spreading  smile.  But  they 
had  not  counted  sufficiently  on  the  re- 
sources of  the  Potts  sporting  blood. 
Driven  to  close  quarters,  it  occurred  to 
George  Potts  that  there  was  a safe  mid- 
dle ground. 


“Say,  boss,  won't  ye  help  us  t'  git  a bite  t'  eat? 
I’d  do  most  anything  t’  git  th ’ price  of  a meal.” 


“I’ll  just  say  ten  pound  fer  th’  cat, 
gentlemen,  and  half  a pound  fer  the  fur, 
makin’  altogether  ten  and  a half  pound,” 
he  finally  announced.  At  least  he  had 
not  been  guilty  of  making  a hazardous 
guess  at  his  time  of  life;  he  could  not 
be  furthest  from  the  actual  weight,  for 
he  was  neither  highest  nor  lowest! 

A groan  went  up  from  about  the 
stove.  With  tears  and  lamentations 
Peter  and  William  Swink  were  divid- 
ing twenty-five  cents  in  change  be- 
tween them,  which  they  handed  the 
grocer  for  cigars  all  around. 

Upon  the  scales,  where  the  grocer 
had  placed  her,  the  cat  lay  peace- 
fully sleeping.  George  Potts,  not- 
ing that  the  weight  arm  was  swing- 
ing easily,  leaned  forward  to  see 
what  the  weight  could  be.  To  his 
surprise  he  discovered  that  the  weight 
of  the  cat  was  just  ten  and  one-half 
pounds. 

A Paradox. 

I think  it’s  the  funniest  joke, 

That  when  you’ve  no  money  you’re 
broke ; 

And  when  you’ve  no  brains — it’s  a 
fact — 

You’re  not  broke  at  all — only  cracked ! 


The 


of  Chidleigh 


Discouragement 

By  J.  A.  WALDRON. 


<<T  TEAR  about  Chidleigh?” 

"What's  up  now?” 

‘‘Chidleigh,  eh?” 

‘‘What’s  the  matter  with  Chidleigh, 
old  top?” 

‘‘Oh,  say,  chappie,  tell  the  news!” 

The  initial  question  was  asked  by  the 
man  who  had  the  news — Wadleigh.  The 
three  inquiries  were  voiced  by  Hurleigh, 
Burleigh  and  Jones.  The  supplication 
was  in  the  falsetto  voice  of  Beachey, 
and,  with  the  absent  Chidleigh,  these 
five  constituted  a sextette  that  went  the 
pace  in  common  or  as  nearly  in  common 
as  possible;  for  Chidleigh  was  always  a 
lap  or  two  in  advanace. 

The  six  were  unlike  any  other  coterie 
in  the  rapid  set.  They  were  all  members 
of  the  Connoisseur  Club,  at  the  bar  of 
which  the  five  at  the  moment  had  gath- 
ered to  discuss  ‘‘gin  daisies,”  with  crit- 
ical references  to  the  chemist  of  the 
club,  whose  concoctions  were  analyzed 
by  them  with  a cruel,  if  not  a scientific, 
disregard  of  his  feeling  that  any  com- 
mon ‘‘barkeep”  would  resent  with  a 
bottle  or  two  of  something. 

These  swift  young  men  were  all  con- 
noisseurs of  everything— or  at  least  they 
thought  they  were  connoisseurs,  because 
they  belonged  to  the  Connoisseur  Club. 
They  toiled  not — and  they  knew  noth- 
ing of  spinning  or  any  other  industry, 
although  they  were  all  raveling  some- 


thing of  the  fabrics  knit  by  their  fathers. 
They  were  by-products  of  industry. 

Being  connoisseurs,  these  young  men 
were  arbiters  for  their  kind  at  the  horse 
show  and  at  all  other  functions  that  ap- 
pealed to  them.  They  knew  all  and  sun- 
dry of  smart  things.  They  frequented 
the  theaters  where  ‘‘girl”  shows  were 
on  the  boards,  but  usually  at  and  by  the 
stage  doors.  They  knew  every  landmark 
along  the  electric  thoroughfares. 

‘‘How  about  Chidleigh,  old  top?” 
Hurleigh  asked  again,  as  the  five  raised 
their  glasses  and  as  with  a single  eye 
scanned  the  drink  before  analysis. 
‘‘Did  he  get  his  auto  out  of  the  tree  in 
the  Bronx?” 

‘‘Not  yet,”  replied  Wadleigh,  ‘‘al- 
though a moving  crane  is  on  the  way  to 
rescue  it.  But  that  probably  isn’t  trou- 
bling him  just  now.  I think,  chappies, 
we’ll  have  to  cut  Chidleigh.” 

‘‘Cut  Chidleigh?”  It  came  as  a 
chorus,  as  the  glasses  were  set  down 
and  the  tipple  abandoned. 

‘‘Why,  old  top,”  ventured  Burleigh, 
‘‘what’ll  we  do  without  Chidleigh? 

‘‘Out  with  it,  old  chap!” 

‘‘What’s  Chidleigh  been  doing?” 

They  regarded  Wadleigh  curiously 
and  with  apprehension. 

‘‘Well,”  said  Wadleigh,  after  a mo- 
ment’s thought,  ‘‘Chidleigh  doesn’t 
seem  to  be  Chidleigh.  And  when  Chid- 


leigh isn’t  Chidleigh,  why  should  we 
follow  his  lead?  When  he  ran  his  motor 
up  the  tree  in  the  Bronx,  it  didn’t  feaze 
him  a little  bit.  He  got  back  to  the 
club,  donned  other  clothes,  and,  after 
drinking  a few  absinthes  frappe,  went 
in  search  of  adventure.  He  apparently 
mistook  a young  woman  on  the  avenue 
for  some  one  he  knew.  He  was  picked 
up,  a little  battered,  and  went  again  and 

changed  his  clothes  and” 

‘‘But  who  was  the  lady?”  asked  Hur- 
leigh. 

‘‘I  believe  she  was  identified,  before 
she  got  away,  as  the  boxing  mistress  at 
one  of  the  colleges  for  women  on  the 
Heights.  As  I was  saying,  Chidleigh 
went  again  and  changed  his  clothes,  the 
time  being  late  in  the  afternoon,  and, 
after  a few  more  absinthes  frappe, 
started  in  search  of  further  adventure. 
He  found  it.  He  met  another  young  wom- 
an, this  time  on  Sixth  Avenue,  and  as- 
sumed she  was  an  acquaintance.  He  had 
to  change  his  clothes  again.  He’s  down 
stairs  now,  but  is  discouraged.” 

Hurleigh  and  Burley  Beachey  and 
Jones  were  amazed.  Jones  alone  had  the 
presence  of  mind  to  ask,  “What  hap- 
pened?” 

“Chidleigh  was  jiu-jitsued, ” replied 
Wadleigh,  with  melancholy. 

“Jiu-jitsu 'd  ! Jap  girl?” 

“No;  shop  girl.”_ 


1 m nothing  but  a knotty  stump, 
I don't  give  fruit  or  shade. 
And  by  the  other  trees  about 
Much  (un  of  me  is  made. 


I 'll  never  go  to  build  a house, 

Or  be  a mainmast  tall  ; 

But  ah,  my  mission  here  on  earth 
Is  most  beautiful  of  all. 


For  many  a laddie  with  his  lass, 

Who  have  sat  beneath  my  bough, 
And  carved  the  names  upon  my  bark, 
Are  fond  grandparents  row. 


<<! 


Generous  Boy. 

I ITTLE  Harry ’s  parents  always  kept  a 
barrel  of  apples  in  the  cellar.  Not 
long  ago  they  moved  next  door  to  an  or- 
phans’ home.  Shortly  after  moving, 
Harry’s  mother  noticed  that  the  apples 
disappeared  with  great  rapidity. 

“Harry,”  she  asked  one  morning, 
“what  is  going  on  with  our  apples?” 

. “Mother,”  he  replied,  “I  have  to  eat 
a great  many  apples.” 

“I  am  willing  that  you  should  have 
all  the  apples  you  want.  But  why  do 
you  eat  so  many  lately?” 

“Why,  I have  to  eat  a great  many, 
’cause  the  orphans  want  the  cores.” 

All  Full. 

“Sistern  and  brederen,”  said  an  old 
darky  in  testimony  meeting,  “Ah  jes’ 
wants  to  git  to  hebben  and 
sque-e-eze  down  into  one  of 
dem  back  seats.” 

“Nar,  nar,  brudder, ” 
said  a deacon  who  had  just 
come  in,  “Dem  back  seats 
been  fulled  up  long  ’go.” 

Rather  Weak. 

Diner  — “Waiter,  bring 
me  a glass  of  water.” 

Waiter — “Certainly,  sir, 
but  you  already  have  one 
glass.  ” 

Diner — “One  is  not 
enough.  Get  me  another. 

I want  to  strengthen  this 
soup.  ” 


The  laurels  fair  of  Tennyson  were  pf 
a pleasing  kind,  the  which  I should  have 
gladly  won  had  I but  had  the  mind. 
To  be  a man  like  that,  of  course,  would 
mighty  pleasing  be; 

But 

When  Polly  says,  “I  love  you!”  I’m 
glad  I’m  only  me ! 

To  win  a fame  like  that  of  Poe  and 
write  such  wondrous  things  as  from  his 
pen  in  constant  flow  gave  his  weird 
spirit  wings  would  most  delightful  be,  I 
think,  fraught  e’en  with  ecstasy; 

But 

When  Polly  calls  me  “Dearest!”  I’m 
glad  I’m  only  me! 

Sometimes  I’ve  envied  Milton’s  fame, 
as  well  as  that  of  Lamb;  I’ve  viewed 


with  jealous,  eyes  the  name  of  dear  old 
O.  Khayyam.  I’ve  wished  I might  be 
any  one  of  all  that  splendid  three; 

But 

When  Polly  smiles  to  meward,  I’m  glad 
I'm  only  me ! 

There’s  Emerson  and  Addison  and  all 
Fame’s  other  sons,  from  Edison  and 
Madison  back  to  the  earliest  ones  who’ve 
cheered  the  world  and  blest  the  soul 
with  deeds  of  victory; 

; ' But 

When  Polly’s  eyes  rest  on  me,  I’m  glad 
I’m  only  me! 

I’ve  never  done  an  earthly  thing  in 
letters  or  the  state  to  give  my  name  and 
fame  the  ring  unquestionably  great,  and 
sometimes  I sit  down  and  moan  my  sad 
obscurity ; 

But 

When  Polly  says,  “Come, 
kiss  me!”  I’m  glad  I’m 
only  me  ! —BUknt  Cr ,v 

Of  Course. 

“Mrs.  Spende  says  they 
have  a harder  time  than 
they  used  to,  trying  to  live 
on  their  income.” 

“That’s  natural  enough 
— Spende  has  had  his  salary 
increased. ” 


To  find  the  silver  lining 
to  the  cloud  you  must  clear 
away  all  gloomy  thoughts. 


MR.  LAZYMAN’S  DEVICE 

“ Rocked  in  the  cradle  by  the  deep,  I lay  me  down  in  peace  to  sleep.” 


Croakley  — ‘ ‘ The  white 
carnation  is  the  emblem  of 
Mothers’  Day.  Is  there 
any  flower  that  is  worn  on 
Fathers’  Day?” 

Joakley — “Yes.  I think 
it  is  the  poppy.” 


Extreme  Opinions. 

AT  THE  meeting  of  the  Do  or  Die 
1 *■  Suffragette  Club  in  closed  session, 
July  1st,  1914,  each  member  was  re- 
quested to  respond  to  roll  call  with  her 
opinion  of  men  in  epigram.  The  follow- 
ing is  the  partial  result: 

Mrs.  Smith — “Men  are  like  jobs — 
when  you  need  them  and  you  want  them 
they  ain’t  there;  when  you  don’t  need 
them  and  you  don’t  want  them,  they  are 
thicker  than  berries  in  a blackberry 
patch.” 

Mrs.  Jones — “Any  woman  who  can 
afford  a husband  can  afford  a bulldog, 
and  if  she  has  a bulldog,  she  doesn’t 
need  a husband. ” 

Mrs.  Brown — “The  reason  so  many 
women  acquire  husbands  is  for  the  same 
reason  lots  of  women  buy  kodaks  and 
poodle  dogs — they  see  other  women 
have  them,  and  don't  know  what  a nuis- 
ance they  are,  nor  how  expensive  to 
keep  up.  ” 

Mrs.  Black — “All  men  are  liars — the 


oorvj 


AN  OVERSIGHT. 

Judge — “ You  are  charged  with  breaking  a 
chair  over  this  man’s  head.” 

Prisoner — “I  didn’t  mean  to  break  the 
chair,  yer  worship.” 


difference  is  that  some  bSck  their  lies 
up  and  some  don’t.” 

Mrfr.  White — “Men  are  like  little  boys 
in  front'of  a bakeshop  window.  They 
pretend  they\don’t  want  any  cake  and 
that  they  wo^ild  run  away  awful  fast  if 
the  baker  was  to  offer  them  any,  but  if 
a woman  thinks  she  is  a baker  and 
offers  them  any  she’ll  find  herself  with 
a life  job  on  her  hands.” 

Mrs.  Fluff — “Men  and  marriage  are 
like  contracts — if  you  once  sign  away 
your  rights,  you  never  get  them  back.” 
Mrs.  Duff — “If  a man  hasn’t  anything 
he  will  willingly  give  you  half  of  it,  but 
if  he  has  anything  you  can’t  get  a 
quarter  of  it  without  false  pretenses.” 

— Bertha  M.  Coombi. 

The  Picnic  Girl. 

She’s  gold  of  hair  and  blue  of  eye, 
She  never  keeps  her  hat  on, 

And  always  puts  the  custard  pie 
Just  where  it  will  be  sat  on. 

Smooth  words  oil  the  grooves  of  life. 


TRIFLES. 

The  rain  may  drive  in  streaks  of  blue, 
The  wind  may  fiercely  blow ; 

But  trifles  these  are  to  the  maid 
Who  would  a-shopping  go. 


THE  MODERN  WOMAN 


Women  in  Journalism. 

rT"'HE  VERY  remarkable  showing  made 
A by  the  suffragists  in  their  recent 
parade  in  New  York  has  inspired  new 
discussions  as  to  woman’s  place  and  pos- 
sibilities in  various  vocations.  The 
matter  of  the  ballot,  of  course,  is  al- 
ways uppermost  in  the  minds  of  the 
more  enthusiastic  among  adherents  of 
the  sex  among  men. 

The  work  of  schools  of  journalism  in 
various  colleges  brings  up  the  question 
of  women’s  success  in  this  calling. 
James  Lee,  director  of  the  department 
of  journalism  in  the  New  York  Uni- 
versity, says  that,  while  that  institution 
pays  more  attention  to  the  magazine 
than  to  the  newspaper  field,  women  stu- 
dents have  done  excellent  work,  and  like 
accounts  come  from  other  institutions. 

It  is  not  to  be  expected  that  schools  of 
journalism  will  wholly  supersede  the 
practical  school  which  has  produced  the 
journalism  of  this  and  past  generations. 
In  this  practical  school  women  long  have 
shown  their  equality  with  men  upon  op- 
portunity, and  many  women  to-day  are 
“stars”  in  journalism,  covering  fields  in 
which  they  are  admittedly  superior  to 
the  other  sex. 

It  is  a fact  that  should  militate  in 
favor  of  any  claim  women  may  make  as 
to  their  right  and  their  aptitudes  for 
almost  any  mental  work  that  men  do 
that  women  for  a long  time  have  been 
eminent  in  literature;  and  in  that  other 


great  field,  the  theater,  for  generations 
women  as  a nfass  have  excelled  men  as 
actors,  while  even  as  dramatists  they  at 
least  hold  their  own. 

Prejudice  alone  has  kept  women  from 
many  other  vocations  in  which  eventually 
they  will  prove  themselves. 

The  Coming  Child. 

A mother  sews  for  her  coming  child 
Shapes  tiny  and  soft  and  undefiled. 

With  many  a stitch  of  love  and  care, 
With  many  a dream  of  all  things  fair, 
She  sews  his  covering  to  prepare. 

The  world  is  making  his  garments,  too; 
Has  fashioned  the  same  the  ages  through. 
With  many  a stitch  of  law  and  greed, 
With  many  a thread  of  sin  and  need, 

It  makes  him  an  early  shroud,  indeed. 

The  world  is  strong  in  the  ballot’s  might ; 
Unarmed  the  mother  to  wage  a fight. 
Mere  hope  is  futile  and  trusting  vain, 
For  not  till  she  helps  to  rule  and  reign 
Shall  ever  the  babe  his  own  attain. 

— Me  Landburgh  Wilton. 

Something  in  It. 

In  San  Francisco,  where  women  can 
vote,  they  are  demanding  a police  court 
for  women  exclusively,  with  bailiff  and 
all  officers  of  the  feminine  sex.  In 
Washington,  D.  C.,  where  neither  men 
nor  women  can  vote,  the  latter  have  put 
up  a woman  candidate  for  judge  of  the 
Juvenile  Court.  All  of  which  proves  that 
there  is  something  besides  suffrage  back 
of  the  “woman’s  rights”  movement. 


Married  Women’s  Legal  Status. 

Until  recently  a wife  in  England  could 
not  testify  against  her  husband,  because 
they  were  one  and  he  was  the  one,  and 
it  would  be  the  same  as  his  testifying 
against  himself.  Then  the  Court  of 
Criminal  Appeal  took  a hand  and  de- 
clared that  she  not  only  might  testify, 
but  could  be  compelled  to.  The  ball  was 
then  tossed  into  the  House  of  Lords, 
which  has  just  decided  that  she  can  do 
as  she  pleases.  By  the  time  the  courts 
and  the  legislative  bodies  and  the  churc'i 
and  the  newspapers  get  through  with 
woman,  will  there  be  any  woman  left? 

Corrected. 

A wealthy  American  girl  was  attend- 
ing a social  function  at  a country  house 
in  England. 

“You  American  girls  have  not  such 
healthy  complexions  as  we  have,”  said 
an  English  duchess  to  the  girl.  “I 
always  wonder  why  our  noblemen  take  a 
fancy  to  your  white  faces.” 

“It  isn’t  our  white  faces  that  attracts 
them,”  responded  the  American;  “it’s 
our  greenbacks.” 

Justice  and  Liberty. 

What  irony ! The  Statue  of  Liberty 
and  all  our  figures  of  justice  are  women! 

When  woman  suffrage  is  accom- 
plished, how  hard  it  will  be  to  find  any 
one  who  ever  opposed  it! 


MAN! 

“ I have  been  absolute  monarch  of  the  world  since  government  began.  I will  not  share  my  sovereignty." 


UNNATURAL  HISTORY  LESSONS 


The  Beaver. 

'"PHE  BEAVER  is  an  aquatic  representative  of  the  mam- 
malian order  Rodentia,  although  it  is  a question 
whether  he  fully  appreciates  the  honor.  He  can  be  distin- 
guished from  a cat,  a small  boy  or  a tramp  by  the  fact  that 
he  is  not  afraid  of  taking  a bath.  When  swimming  he 
uses  only  his  stern  propellers,  and  steers  with  his  tail.  It 
would  be  cruel  to  de-tail  a beaver,  because  then  he  would 
have  to  swim  in  a straight  line  entirely  around  the  earth  in 
order  to  get  back  to  where  he  started  from.  (See  Colum- 
bus’s theory  of  the  shape  of  the  earth.)  Beavers  are  ex- 
pert civil  engineers.  They  see  a dam  site  quicker  than 
many  human  beings,  and  then  build  their  dam  with  super- 
human sagacity,  locating  their  living  quarters  underneath. 
Like  all  sensible  people,  they  leave  their  apartments  in  the 
spring  and  travel  and  visit  relatives  all  summer.  Their 
bill  of  fare  consists  of  bark  au  naturel,  bark  maitre  de 
dam  and  bark  au  gratin;  also  a dessert  of  water  lily  when 
it  is  in  season.  They  shed  their  furs  occasionally,  with 
the  aid  of  trappers’  skinning  knives.  These  furs  are 
genuine  and  command  great  figures.  Made  into  coats, 
they  are  seen  displaying  all  kinds  of  figures.  The  beaver 
is  rarely  shot,  but  is  put  out  of  business  with  a stick  or 
caught  in  a trap.  As  he  is  hunted  only  at  night,  a night- 
stick is  used.  The  class  may  now  go  to  the  country  and 
find  a beaver  dam  and  watch  the  beavers  beave. 

17  — C.  G.  Garrttion. 


\T0  MAN  seeks  the  presidential  nomi- 
nation. Anybody  who  brazenly 
steps  before  the  public,  thumps  his 
manly  chest,  advertises 
himself  and  works  for 
the  job  violates  every 
dictate  of  decency  and 
decorum. 

In  recognition  of  this  great  truth, 
men  of  both  parties  begin  every  four 
years  crafty  preparations  for  having 
the  honor  forced  upon  them.  Each  fel- 
low makes  his  closest  friend  promise  to 
manage  his  campaign,  hires  a brigade 
of  trusty  press  agents,  engages  the  ser- 
vices of  an  expert  card  indexer,  gives 
out  an  interview  saying  that  he  has  no 
idea  he  will  be  nominated  and  then, 
having  transformed  himself  into  a 
lightning  rod  upon  which  the  presi- 
dential thunderbolts  may  beat  to 
their  heart’s  content,  he  disap- 
pears. 

Climbing  laboriously,  but  rapid- 
ly, the  Mount  of  Self-Abnegation, 
he  ties  around  his  neck  the  mill- 
stone of  humility  and  leaps  into 
the  deep,  unruffled  sea  of  quiet  and 
oblivion.  He  becomes,  as  if  by 
magic,  a shrinking  violet,  a blos- 
som harder  to  discover  than  the 
blue  rose,  a gentle  and  fragile 
thing  that  will  wither,  pine  away 
and  die  under  the  glare  of  the  ris- 
ing sun.  Wrapping  about  his  Na- 
poleonic brow  the  cerements  and 
shrouds  of  silence,  he  makes  his  way 
into  that  gloomy  and  black-plumed  yard 
known  as  dignified  and  judicious  retire- 
ment, where  he  suddenly  becomes  as 
talkative  as  a fish  and  as  approachable 
as  a vestal  virgin.  He  cultivates  reti- 
cence, wears  a self-adjusting  and  double- 
backacting  gag,  refuses  himself  to  inter- 
viewers and  hides  in  the  dismal  and 
penumbral  shades  of  solitude.  All  at 
once,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  he  is 
gone — gone  into  pallescent  and  paludal 
exile.  He  is  mummified  by  his  modesty. 

But  he  remains  crafty.  Into  his 
funereal  refuge  he  has  run  a telephone 


wire,  and  the  cerements  and  shrouds  are 
not  wrapped  about  his  head  so  tightly 
that  he  cannot  adjust  the  receiver  to  his 
sensitive  ear.  And  once  in  a long  while 
a fleet-footed  courier,  beating  a pathway 
through  the  everglades  of  his  solitude, 
tells  him  how  goes  the  battle,  reports 
on  the  condition  of  the  campaign  fund 
and  brings  him  a message  that  it  is  his 
duty  to  make  a “whirlwind  tour’’  of  the 
country  or  to  send  an  “open  letter’’  to 
Billy  Jones,  of  Podunk  Gap,  describing 
exactly  how  the  common  people  are  to 
be  saved  from  the  crime  and  greed  of 
corporations  and  monopolies. 

Fighting  three  fast  rounds  with  his 
modesty,  knocking  the  traditions  of  a 


century  into  a million  iridescent  atoms 
and  conquering  his  personal  sufferings, 
he  emerges  from  the  wilderness  of  his 
self-abasement  and  spends  the  next  few 
weeks  in  screaming  loudly  from  the  rear 
platform  of  a Pullman  car  and  abusing 
madly  the  railroad  chef. 

After  this,  his  head  publicity  man 
ropes  him,  hamstrings  him,  throws  him 
into  a corner  and  beats  him  over  the 
head  with  a fountain  pen  until  he  reluct- 
antly, but  gabbily,  gives  up  all  the 
tender  little  details  of  his  boyhood  ex- 
periences, all  the  triumphs  of  his  college 
career,  and  all  his  struggles  with  Dame 


Fortune,  including  that  crucial  en- 
counter when  he  grabbed  the  lady  by  the 
throat  and  choked  her  into  submission. 
All  of  this  is  published 
in  the  daily  newspapers, 
thanks  to  the  industry 
and  leg  muscles  of  the 
press  agents.  Of  course, 
it  pains  the  candidate  greatly  to  have 
his  life  exposed  in  this  manner,  but, 
when  you  modestly  engage  in  the  gentle 
art  of  having  yourself  catapulted  into 
the  presidential  nomination,  you  are 
naturally  immensely  annoyed  every  min- 
ute. Sometimes  you  have  to  have  vero- 
nal to  make  you  sleep. 

Financing  a fight  for  the  nomination 
is  a delicate  and  difficult  thing. 
It  is  like  dancing  a fandango  on  the 
thin  ice  of  danger  and  destruction. 
The  candidate  modestly  never 
knows  where  the  money  comes 
from.  If  he  does,  being  a sensible 
man  and  averse  to  investigation 
and  rude  questions,  he  promptly 
forgets  it.  But  his  dear  friend  has 
to  beat  it  up  and  down  this  fair  land 
and  get  the  coin.  If  handed  to  him 
willingly,  he  grabs  it.  If  this  does 
not  happen,  he  grabs  it  anyhow, 
taking  care  to  issue  a statement 
daily  that  he  accepts  no  contribu- 
tions from  corporations  or  rich 
malefactors.  Nobody  believes  this, 
but  it  sounds  exceedingly  nice  and 
ladylike,  not  to  say  idiotic. 

A real  flossy  up-to-date  pre-conven- 
tion organization  consists  of  the  follow- 
ing: The  candidate,  his  dear  friend  and 
manager,  political  scouts,  press  agents, 
a financial  representative,  a secretary 
and  a corps  of  stenographers — all  this 
meaning  that  no  man  ever  seeks  the 
nomination. 

And  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  it. 
When  it  comes  to  modesty,  sense  and 
acumen,  the  modest  candidate  makes  old 
Rhadamanthus  look  like  an  ossified  body 
surmounted  by  a petrified  bean. 

He  is  modestly  awake  to  the  main 
chance. 


GOT  HER  GOAT. 

Big  brother  (to  little  sister,  who  has  just  taken  her  first  ride  with  goat)  — “ Nice  ride,  Rosie  ?" 

Rosie  (looking  ruefully  at  whip) — “ Yes.  But  goodness!  1 never  thought  Billy  would  wear  out  his  whip  so  soonl" 


The  Birth  of  a Progressive. 


The  Joy  of  Attainment. 


Head-on  Collision. 


All  day  I wandered  sadly 
through  the  town, 

But  sought  a place  to  sleep 
all,  all  in  vain  ! 

On  the  lake  shore  that  night  I 
laid  me  down, 

To  murder  delegates  inside 
my  brain. 

And  now  at  last  I know  without 
a doubt 

We  ought  to  cut  these  fool  conven- 
tions out! 

— Charln  H.  Mackintosh. 


EXPLOSIVE. 

Chauffeur — “ Hang  it ! another  blowout !” 


The  Cause. 

“What’s  this  rumpus  about?” 
“Oh,  it  is  caused  by  the 
strange  bedfellows  that  politics 
makes  trying  to  steal  all  the 
coverlids  from  each  other,  and 
the  skeletons  in  the  closets  ham- 
mering to  get  out  to  take  part 
in  the  campaign.” 


A Sad  Sonnet  of  the  Convention  City, 

T GRABBED  my  stylo  firmly  in  my  fist; 
“I  want  a double  room  and  bath !”  I 
said. 

The  day  clerk  smiled  and  gently  shook 
his  head, 

And  then  replied,  “If  that’s  a joke — 
desist ! 

Them  things  you  ask  me  for  just  don’t 
exist — 

We’ve  nineteen  delegates  in 
every  bed ! 

But  call  around  again,  cos, 
on  the  dead, 

You’re  number  ninety  on  the 
waiting  list !” 


A man  can  have  a good  many  triumphs 
in  a political  career,  but  whatever 
heights  he  attains  there  is  never  a repe- 
tition of  the  supreme  joy  he  felt  the 
first  time  he  served  as  chairman  of  a 
convention  and  reached  that  part  of  the 
proceedings  where  he  puffed  his  chest 
out  and  said,  “What  is  the  further 
pleasure  of  the  convention?” 


Hewitt — “I  had  a strange  dream  last 
night.” 

Jewett — “1  will  try  to  keep  awake 
while  you  tell  it.  ” 

Hewitt — “I  dreamed  that  Taft  and 
Roosevelt  met  on  a single  track.” 


Philosophical. 

“When  I look  around  and  see  the  cam- 
paign banners,”  said  the  de- 
feated candidate  for  the  presi- 
dential nomination,  “I  am  more 
than  reconciled  to  my  defeat, 
and  my  heart  goes  out  to  the 
poor  fellows  who  have  to  be 
disfigured  by  house  painters 
who  once  in  four  years  play 
the  role  of  portrait  painters.” 


LISTENING 


“YOU’RE  THE  ONLY  GIRL  I EVER  LOVED. 


He  Maka  Me  Laugh! 

|\/|Y!  THIS  is  da  granda  lan  ! 

Maka  da  mon  on  da  penut,  loosa 
on  da  banan. 

Hear  all  da  pepul  talka  about  da  “graff,  ” 
Teddy  De  Roose  and  Biga  Bill  Taff. 


Some  say  stoppa  keekin  my  dog  aroun. 
Help  getta  da  bizness  offa  da  groun. 
Teddy  De  Roose  say  my  hat  inna  da  ring, 
Gotta  taka  da  third  term,  don’t  wanta 
dam  thing. 


Gotta  busta  da  trust  and  stoppa  da 
“graff.  ” 

Teddy  De  Roose!  He  maka  me  laugh! 
Me!  I votta  for  Clark — he  owna  da 
houn, 

He  getta  da  bizness  offa  da  groun. 

Gotto  recalla  da  jodge,  causa  da  jodge 
is  da  crook; 

Gotta  hava  da  more  baba  and  fira  da 
cook. 

Teddy  De  Roose!  He  maka  me  laugh! 
Gonna  busta  da  trust  and  stoppa  da 
“graff.”  -j.  c.  r. 

A Certainty. 

De  Style — “Do  you  think  women  will 
take  part  in  the  coming  campaign?” 
Gunbusta — “I  know  two  that  will — 
Anna  Nias  and  Molly  Coddle.” 


In  Convention  Times. 

One  of  fifty  other  delegates — “ You 
have  been  gone  four  hours.  Have  you 
got  anything  for  us?” 

The  scout — “You  bet.  Two  dandy 
chances;  a ten-minute  option  on  one- 
third  of  a big  bed  and  a half-hour’s  op- 
tion on  half  a little  bed.” 

A Mothergosling. 

“Suffragette  Mary,  quite  contrary, 

How  do  your  prospects  grow?” 

“With  cobblestone  raids  and  big  parades 
And  pretty  maids  all  in  a row.” 


DIDN’T  WAIT  FOR  IT. 
Waggles — “ Did  yer  ask  de  woman  at  de 
last  house  fer  a bite  ?” 

Haggles — “ Yes  ; but  she  said  der  dog  did 
all  de  bitin’  fer  de  family,  an’  w’en  she 
started  to  untie  him  I beat  it." 


“ On  ” Money. 

“The  man  we  nominate  at  this  con- 
vention,” said  a delegate,  en  route, 
“will  some  day  have  his  face  on  our 
money.” 

“Unless  the  Democrats  should  win,” 
some  one  interposed.  “If  Wilson’s  face 
ever  appears  on  our  bills  then  they’ll  be 
long  green,  all  right.  If  Taft,  then  the 
money  will  come  round  again.” 

“If  I’m  ever  elected  President,”  said 
a meek,  humble  man,  “I  mean  to 
change  the  style.  I don’t  ever  want  my 
face  on  it.  ” 

“What  would  be  the  new  style?”  was 
asked. 

“Why,  I prefer  to  have  my  hands  on 
it,”  he  explained. 

Postal  Information. 

“How  much  postage  will  this  take?” 
asked  the  middle-aged  lady,  as  she 
handed  a package  marked  “Miss  Jean 
DeSwellers,  Atlantic  City,  N.  J.,”  to 
the  clerk  at  the  stamp  window. 

The  man  weighed  it  carefully.  “Any 
writing?”  he  inquired. 

“Not  a line,”  responded  the  lady, 
“it’s  only  my  daughter’s  bathing  suit.” 

“One  cent,”  snapped  the  man. 


A LAPSE  OF  MEMORY. 

Mrs.  Teller — “ Mrs.  Tinkle  says  that  nothing  is  really  impossible." 

Mr.  Small — “ She  must  have  forgotten  her  husband  when  she  was  speaking.” 


CINDERELLA 


“Not  quite,  dear,”  was  the  answer. 
“Do  you  mind  waiting  until  I unwrap 
this  package?” 

Mr3.  Updyke  waited  in  surprise  and 
suspense  while  her  husband  produced 
a machine  that  was  a duplicate  of 
her  own.  “Now,”  said  Mr.  Updyke, 
“let’s  have  a duet. ” 

He  placed  his  machine  on  a table 
near  that  occupied  by  his  wife’s.  Both 
were  turned  loose  and  the  following 
dialogue  took  place: 

“Broad  4-0-2-7.  Hello!  That  you, 
Harry?” 

“Hello,  Updyke!” 

“Well,  is  everything  ready  for  the 
party?” 

“I  guess  so.  The  boat  is  in  fine 
working  order.  ” 

“She  is,  is  she?  Good!” 

“Yes.  She  runs  like  a watch.  I 
haven’t  got  her  all  painted  yet.” 

“Oh,  I don’t  mind  about  the  paint ! 

I suppose  she’s  got  lots  of  speed.” 
“Sure  ! She  runs  best  when  she  has 
a good,  heavy  load  on.” 

“At  her  best  when  she  has  a good 
load  on,  hey?  Well,  we’ll  take  care 
of  that.” 

“You  want  to  be  careful  and  keep 
her  well  oiled.  The  engine’s  stiff 
when  it’s  new,  you  know.” 

“Yes,  I’m  always  careful  to  treat 
a new  one  nicely.” 


“By  the  way,  I've  painted  the  name 
Dolly  on  her  bow.  ” 

“Dolly,  hey?  Fine!  That’s  my 
wife’s  name.” 


THE  NEWEST  COLLARS. 


1.  The  Gouge  — The  only 
real  rival  of  the  deadly  hat 
pin. 

3 The  Nikotine-With 
washable  asbestos  attach- 
ment for  pipe,  cigar  or  cig- 
arette. 

5.  The  Clutch -To  be  but 
toned  to  hat  band  at  back 
during  windy  periods.  Bv  a 
deft  movement  of  the  mus- 
cles of  the  neck  it  can  be 
made  to  tip  hat  without  use 
of  hands. 


2.  The  Cafeteria — For  use 
at  quick  lunch  counters  and 
soda  fountains,  hront  can 
be  rolled  down,  buttoned 
to  coat  and  employed  as  a 
napkin. 

4.  The  Str«Dl»«n*er  Espe- 
cially fashionable  among 
commuters  and  patrons  of 
the  subway  during  rush 
hours 

6.  The  Auto— Designed  to 
wear  in  place  of  goggles 
while  motoring. 


“That  so?  She’s  thirty-two  feet  long 
and  draws  five  feet  three  inches  of 
water.  ” 

“Thirty-two  and  five  feet  three,  you 
say?  Why,  she’s  a twin  sister  to 
the  last  one  I had  — the  one  that 
went  to  pieces,  you  know.  Say,  but 
my  wife  will  be  wild  when  she  sees 
her!  Well,  be  sure  and  have  her 
ready  Saturday  afternoon.  Good- 
by!” 

“Good-by,  Updyke!” 

“Well,  my  dear,  suspecting  child,” 
said  Mr.  Updyke,  whe^  the  whirring 
of  the  dictagraph  records  had  ceased, 
“are  you  pleasantly  surprised?” 

Mrs.  Updyke  maintained  a painful 
silence. 

“You  see,  it  was  this  way.  i hap- 
pen to  know  the  man  who  sold  you 
the  dictagraph.  I lunched  with  him 
yesterday,  in  fact,  and  he  told  me  of 
your  visit.  I smelled  a rat.  I got 
this  machine,  took  it  to  my  friend, 
Harry  Green,  of  whom  I am  buying  a 
motor  boat  as  a surprise  for  you,  and 
arranged  our  conversation  beforehand. 
I have  also  been  in  the  confidence 
of  your  friend,  the  drug  clerk,  who  told 
me  of  the  interest  taken  in  my  move- 
ments by  our  neighbor  across  the 
way.  You  see,  darling,  that  two 
sides  of  a story  are  better  than  one. 
By  the  way,  don’t  forget  that  we 


take  our  maiden  trip  on 
the  Dolly  on  Saturday  aft- 
ernoon. What’s  your 
traveling  bag  doing  out 
here?” 

‘‘Oh,  I was  just  getting 
ready  for  that  maiden 
trip!”  said  Mrs.  Updyke. 

Then  she  put  her  arms 
around  his  neck  and  prom- 
ised him,  as  she  had  done 
many,  many  times  before, 
that  she  would  never, 
never  doubt  him  again. 

Snaps  and  Snarls. 

4 

Providence  tempers  the 
wind  to  the  girl  with  the 
silk  stockings. 

□ 

A self-made  man  al- 
ways acts  as  if  he  thought 
somebody  else  wanted  to 
claim  the  job. 

. □ 

American  women  will 
never  get  so  excited  ove’r 
politics  that  they  will  for- 
get their  powder  rags. 

□ 

In  England  the  candi- 
date ‘‘stands”  for  office; 
here  the  office  has  to  stand 
for  the  candidate. 

□ 

American  genius  has 
done  some  great  things, 
and  it  may  yet  invent  a health  food 
that  tastes  like  something  to  eat. 

□ 

Honesty  is  also  the  best  politics,  but 
only  a few  have  got  next  to  it. 

The  worst  thing  you  can  say  about 
an  actress  is — nothing. 

□ \ 

A diplomat  is  a man  with  two  boys 
and  a dog,  who  can  live  in  the  same 
block  a year  without  a quarrel. 

.□ 

Many  a woman  wtio  has  everything 
else  she  wants  wears  her  heart  away  in 
sorrow  because  she  can’t  wear  pink. 

You  can  violate  a man’s  principles 
with  impunity,  but  beware  of  tramping 
on  his  prejudices.  — tr.  k„  Maxwell. 

He  s One  in  a Million. 

There’s  a man  whom  I don't  know  by 

name, 

Who  belongs  in  the  fans’  Hall  of  Fame. 
When  his  office-boy  said 
That  his  grandma  was  dead, 

He  cried,  ‘‘Sure!  Go  ahead  to  the 
game !” 


Maternalism. 

Kind,  gentle  m a n — 
‘‘What  are  you  going  to 
do,  Johnny,  when  you  be- 
come a man?” 

Johnny  ‘ ‘Nawthin’.  ” 
Kind  gentlema n — 
‘‘What?  Not  going  to  do 
anything?” 

Johnny — ‘‘No.  Just  as 
soon  as  I started  some- 
thing, ma  would  tell  me 
to  stop  it.” 

Our  Imports. 

It  is  saic^  that  a number 
of  titled  Englishmen  are 
planning  to  visit  America 
shortly.  We  are  also  re- 
ceiving large  shipments 
of  lemons  from  the  West 
Indies. 

Usually. 

Willis — ‘‘  W hat  posi- 
tion do  you  occupy  in  your 
household?” 

Gillis — ‘‘I  am  treasurer 
to  my  wife’s  social  secre- 
tary.” 

Vice  Versa. 

Parson — ‘‘So  your  hus- 
ffiand  is  sick.  Maybe  he 
hasbeen  throwing  himself 
too  heavily  into  his  work.” 

Mrs.  Casey — ‘‘Not  on  yure  loife! 
He’s  been  throwing  his  wu-urk  too  hi vi- 
ly  into  him.  That’s  what’s  the  throu- 
ble  wid  him.  He’s  a bartinder. ” 

Anent  the  Flea. 

How  doth  the  little  busy  flea 
Delight  to  jump  and  bite! 

He’s  never  where  he  seems  to  be — 
He’s  always  out  of  sight! 

The  things  the  flea  has  done  to  me 
Are  not  a cause  for  laughter; 

I’ve  cussed  him  till  I plainly  see 
My  place  in  the  hereafter. 

An  Addition. 

‘‘Yes,  sir,  when  we  were  ambushed, 
we  got  out  without  losing  a man  or  a 

horse  or  a gun  or” 

‘‘A  minute,”  chimed  in  a small,  still 
voice. 

And  Still  We  Print  It. 

The  poets  are  working  overtime. 

With  them  ’tis  now  the  open  season. 
They  find  much  reason  for  their  rhyme, 
And  make  much  rhyme  with  little 
reason. 


THE  NEWSPAPER  MOOCHER. 

How  soon  an  upright  man  loses  his  reputa- 
tion when  he  becomes  a candidate  for  office. 


METING  OUT  JUSTICE. 

Judge — “ You  look  familiar.  Were  you  ever  be- 
fore this  Court  before  ?” 

Female — “ No,  sir;  but  I wuz  yer  cook  last 
month.” 

Judge — “ Thirty  days  on  bread  and  water.” 


A CHASED  DIANA. 


She  has  journeyed  abroad. 

She  is  met  at  the  pier 
By  a grovelling  horde 

Come  from  far  and  from  near. 


She  has  journeyed  abroad. 

And  some  moneyless  peer, 
With  her  vast  golden  hoard, 

She  will  capture,  I fear. 

— C.  G.  Garret t»n. 


NATURE’S  SWEET  RESTORER. 

Photographer  (to  farmer  Hayrick)— “ Look  pleasant,  please.” 

Mrs.  Hayrick  “ Go  to  sleep,  Abner.  That 's  the  only  time  you  're  pleasant.” 


“ WHAT  MAN  HAS  DONE,  MAN  CAN  DO.” 


The  Same,  Yet  Different. 

A BOUT  two  years  had  passed  away 
Since  Nell  and  I had  met; 

So  ’twas  not  strange  that  I should  say, 
When  I again  chanced  by  her  way, 
‘‘Nell,  are  you  married  yet?” 

She  glanced  at  me  in  mild  surprise — 

I would  have  made  a bet 
That  there  was  sadness  in  her  eyes 
As  she  replied,  between  two  sighs, 
‘‘Yes,  I am  married — yet!” 

Children  did  the  bunny  hug  Easter  week. 


His  First  Serious  Thought. 

W.  E.  D.  Stokes,  Jr.,  son  of  the  mil- 
lionaire hotel  proprietor  and  known 
among  his  intimates  as  “Weddie,”  is 
about  fourteen  years  old  and  is  already 
the  patentee  of  a dozen  or  more  elec- 
trical appliances. 


NO  CAUSE  FOR  PROTEST. 
Innkeeper — “ Whatcher  howlin’  fer  ? Ye  don’t 
hev  t’  eat  this  dinner.” 


EXTREMES  MEET. 


Not  long  ago  a caller  at  the  house 
was  talking  to  him  about  his  work  and 
asked  him  how  long  he  had  been  at  it. 

“Well,”  he  said,  with  considerable 
deliberation,  ‘‘I  first  took  up  electrical 
engineering  seriously  in  1900.” 

How  much  fun  he  got  out  of  it  before 
he  took  it  up  seriously  at  the  mature 
age  of  four  years  nobody  knows. 

Her  Crowning  Glory. 

Mary  had  a new  spring  hat, 

And,  though  accounts  do  vary, 
Some  people  say  her  feet  were  all 
That  could  be  seen  of  Mary. 


( 


COMFORTS  OF  A BACHELOR  MUSSER. 


NOT  TO  BE  DENIED. 

“ B jabbers,  if  Oi  wus  dead  Oi 'd  own  up  t’  it.” 

No  Cause  for  Worry. 

Knicka — “ My  son  is  at  college,  in 
Philadelphia,  and  from  the  way  I have 
to  put  up  the  coin,  I judge  he  must  be 
sowing  a bumper  crop  of  wild  oats." 

Rocket — ‘‘Oh,  I wouldn’t  worry  over 
a little  thing  like  that.  Very  likely 
they’re  Quaker  oats.” 

Both  poles  discovered,  what  now  are 
the  explorers  to  do? 


Ballade  of  a Bachelor. 

By  JOHX  XORTHERX  HILLIARD. 

’T'ALL  she  was  and  divinely  fair, 

^ Light  of  foot  as  a woodland  fay; 

A Gibson  girl  with  a modish  air — 

She  that  I loved  and  that  said  me  nay. 
It  seems,  ah,  me!  but  yesterday — 

How  stunning  she  looked  in  her  feath- 
ered hat ! 

But  ten  long  years  have  passed  away, 
And  Amaryllis  is  growing  fat. 

Ankles  dainty  and  figure  spare, 

Cupid’s  mouth  and  eyes  of  gray, 
Roguish  dimples  and  golden  hair, 

Chloe  was  blithe  as  a bird  in  May. 
Though  I pleaded  long  for  a single 
“yea,” 

She  used  my  heart  as  she  would  a mat; 

But  Time  adjusts  all  things,  they  say. 
And  Chloe,  too,  is  growing  fat. 

Lips  that  were  made  to  tempt  and  snare, 
Eyes  to  sparkle  and  dance  and  play, 

A smile  to  banish  life’s  cark  and  care  — 
Clorinda  certainly  ‘‘had  a way.” 
Slender,  too,  as  a poplar  spray; 
Graceful  with  racquet  and  club  and  bat. 
She  spurned  me,  too;  but  my  heart  is 
fW — 

For  Clorinda,  also,  is  growing  fat. 

Only  the  foolish  harber  would  have 
the  cheek  to  cut  an  acquaintance. 


Current  Fiction. 

Kidder — ‘‘That  fellow  makes  a living 
writing  light  fiction.” 

Kiddee — ‘‘He  doesn’t  look  like  a lit- 
erary chap.” 

Kidder—'  He’s  not.  He  makes  out 
statements  for  the  electric-light  com- 
pany.” 


(fi 


A BROAD  SMILE 

Minister — “ Well,  Brother  Jones,  I hear  that 
the  Lord  has  smiled  on  you  ?” 

Jones  (who  has  recently  become  the  father  of 
twins) — ‘‘Smiled  on  me?  He  laughed  out 
loud  at  me." 


“HUMAN  VARIOUS.” 

My  dear  Basil ! you  don  t mean  to  say  you  haven’t  ever  been  to  Stumpleigh’s  place?  Why,  he  has  all  kinds  of  psople  up  there  !” 


A Natural  Misunderstanding. 

'T'HE  earnest  lecturer  raised  his  voice 
and  spoke  with  special  emphasis. 
“I  want  to  tell  you,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men,” he  said,  ‘‘that  Robert  Burns’s 
poetry” 

He  was  interrupted  by  a man  in  the 
audience,  an  editor  whom  he  had  roused 
from  a doze. 

‘‘Good  for  Robert!”  cried  this  man 
enthusiastically. 


A rolling  pin,  now  and  then,  may  de- 
scend upon  the  best  of  men. 


School  girl — “ Please,  ma  says  ter  vaccinate 
me  where  it  won't  show.” 


The  Footpad  and  the  Poet. 

[A  footpad  in  New  York  held  up  a local  poet.  By 
mistake,  of  course.  One  can’t  tell  anythine  by  ap- 
pearances. — Cleveland  Plain  Dealer.] 

That’s  where  you’re  off!  The  footpad 
knew 

The  poet  was  a poet, 

And,  feeling  kindly  toward  the  Muse, 
He  took  that  way  to  show  it. 

He  didn’t  hold  him  up  to  rob — > 

He  knew  he  was  a poet; 

But  what  he  did  was  different, 

And  all  the  world  should  know  it. 

For,  lo!  he’d  robbed  a publisher, 

Who  otherwise  would  blow  it, 

And,  with  his  blessing,  he  conferred 
The  wad  upon  the  poet. 

What?  IV.  J.  Ljmpton,  port. 

A Misunderstanding. 

First  boarder — ‘‘Will  you  pass  the 
cheese?” 

Second  boarder — ‘‘How  fast  is  it  trav- 
eling?” 

Back  Again. 

Now  cease  to  fret  o’er  butcher  bills, 

The  price  of  meat  forget. 

What  matters  if  the  finny  folk 
Escape  the  fisher’s  net? 

Farewell  to  pork  chop  and  to  stew! 

Avaunt,  you  costly  steak  ! 

We  welcome  back  to  festive  board 
The  juicy,  red  shortcake. 

An  odor  of  the  past — gasoline. 


A QUINTET. 

Professor  Hug — “ I was  looking  for  the  South 
Pole,  but  I didn’t  expect  to  find  five  of  them.” 


A Personal  Affront. 

Striking  members  of  the  Amalga- 
mated Skirt  Stitchers  were  holding  a 
conference. 

‘‘Where  is  that  tall,  thin  girl  who 
joined  the  union  last  week?”  inquired 
the  walking  delegate. 

The  secretary  arose  to  reply: 

‘‘She  handed  in  her  resignation  this 
morning.  ” 

‘‘What  was  her  reason?” 

‘‘She  took  offense  when  she  was  called 
on  to  act  as  a picket.” 


BALL  FIENDS— THEY  HAVE  ARRIVED. 

Baseball. 


DASEBALL,  a purely  American  insti- 
tution,  is  played  by  a few  million 
fans,  the  newspapers  and  an  umpire, 
assisted  by  two  widely  worshiped  idols 
called  pitchers.  There  are  a few  other 
supernumeraries  in  the  game,  but  they 
are  of  no  particular  detriment. 

The  contestants  play  out  of  doors 
nine  months  in  the  year  and  in 
vaudeville  the  rest  of  the  time. 

The  pitcher,  unlike  his  inanimate 
namesake,  is  of  no  value  when  full. 

A wild  pitcher  is  one  who  indulges 
in  high  balls.  The  purpose  of  the 
game  is  to  score.  When  a team 
can’t  score  a run,  it  scores  the 
umpire.  When  the  players  are 
raw  they  are  roasted  by  the  mana- 
ger, and  when  they  are  fresh  he 
cans  them.  Baseball  is  not  con- 
sidered a dangerous  sport,  al- 
though it  causes  a gigantic  mor- 
tality among  grandmothers  each 
year.  A baseball  fan  is  a curious 
instrument  used  to  keep  the  air  in 
motion.  It  does  not  shut  up,  like 
many  kinds  of  fans.  A bleacher 
is  a wide  flight  of  steps,  so  ar- 
ranged as  to  get  the  full  benefit  of  the 
afternoon  sun  and  to  be  entirely  cut  off 
from  breezes.  One  row  of  bleacher 
seats  will  comfortably  accommodate  a 
greater  multitude  of  rooters  than  all  the 
upholstered  pews  in  a full-sized  modern 


church.  Here  is  an  abridged  dictionary 
of  terms  used  in  baseball : 

Hit — Vaudeville  act  headed  by  a big 
leaguer. 

Error — Any  decision  of  the  umpire 
against  the  team  you  are  backing. 


“THE  POWER  BEHIND  THE  THROWN.” 

Rain  check — A fan’s  hope  of  the  here- 
after. 

Knot  hole — A small  boy’s  peep-sight 
into  paradise. 

Jinx — An  excuse  for  playing  a bum 
game.  (See  Drinks.) 


Steal — Transaction  of  a ticket  specu- 
lator. 

Safe — An  enormous  receptacle  for 
holding  the  gate  receipts  of  the  cham- 
pionship series. 

Strike — Refusal  of  the  players  to 
work  until  the  ghost  walks. 

Walk — End  of  the  strike. 

Tie — Part  of  a railroad  track 
utilized  on  the  homeward  journey 
by  the  fan  who  bets  on  the  losing 
team.  ' -c  c c. 


Sir  Gilbert  Parker,  with  fiery 
emphasis,  declares  that  never,  no, 
never,  shall  Russia  have  Persia. 
As  Russia  already  has  it,  the  only  infer- 
ence is  that  Sir  Gilbert  Parker  is  still 
eminent  in  the  realm  of  fiction. 


The  cry  of  “batter  up’’  now  heard,  is 
not  a warning  that  the  dough  is  rising. 


Hubby  Passes. 

(A  per  version  of  Browning  ) 

The  year’s  at  the  spring — 

And  it’s  Monday  morn; 

Time—  nearly  seven; 

The  dust  rag’s  unfurled. 

It’s  springtime  housecleaning — 
Inferno  is  born ! 

Sure  as  there’s  heaven, 

All’s  wrong  in  the  world! 

Ratiocination. 


THE  LINE  UP. 

(Drawn  with  a single  line.) 


THE  FARE 


o n 


e r b y 


H 


u r r i e s 


M r . 


j\/IR.  SONDERRY  is  one  of  the  calm- 
est,  coolest  men  on  Long  Island. 
He  never  hurries  and  he  never  misses  a 
train.  When  he  dresses  for  the  theater, 
he  dresses  slowly,  allowing  himself  am- 
ple time,  and  he  is  always  ready  and 
waiting  by  the  time  Mrs.  Sonderby  is 
half  dressed.  Then  he  walks  at  a re- 
spectable pace  to  the  station  with  Mrs. 
Sonderby,  has  just  one  minute  to  await 
the  train,  and  carries  the  whole  thing 
through  without  fuss  or  flurry. 

It  is  a pleasure  to  see  Mr.  Sonderby 
dfess.  Before  dinner  he  lays  out  his 
linen  and  his  dress  suit  and  his  tie,  sees 
that  his  brushes  and  comb  are  in  place, 
puts  his  clean  socks  beside  his 
patent-leather  shoes  beside  the 
low  chair,  inserts  the  cuff  and 
collar  buttons  in  their  proper 
buttonholes,  and  makes  all 
necessary  preparations.  After 
dinner  he  calmly  dresses.  No 
haste,  no  flurry,  no  hurry.  He 
dresses  with  the  slow  but  steady 
movements  of  a plumber  work- 
ing by  the  hour. 

On  September  1 5 1.  h Mrs. 
Sonderby,  about  four  in  the  aft- 
ernoon, called  Mr.  Sonderby  on 
the  telephone. 

“George,  dear,”  she  said, 

“Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merkle  have  in- 
vited us  to  the  theater  to-night 
— the  Empire  Theater.  We  will 
meet  you  in  the  lobby  at  eight- 
fifteen.  Mrs.  Merkle  and  I are 
going  in  early  to  do  some  shop- 
ping. They  have  a box,  so 
you  had  better  run  out  and  have 
dinner  at  home  and  change  your 
clothes.  You  can  get  the  seven-thirty 
train  to  town,  then,  and  just  meet  us.” 

“Very  well,  honey,”  said  Mr.  Son- 
derby. “Are  you  sure  about  that  train? 
You  know,  the  winter  time  table  goes 
into  effect  to-day.” 

“I  know,”  said  Mrs.  Sonderby.  “I 
got  a new  time  table  yesterday,  and  I 
have  just  looked  up  the  time.  I’ll  leave 
the  time  table  on  your  dresser.” 

Mr.  Sonderby  reached  Westcote  on 
the  train  that  arrives  there  at  six-three. 
At  six-eighteen  he  was  in  his  house, 
and  as  Pauline,  the  maid,  had  dinner  on 
the  table,  having  been  urged  by  Mrs. 
Sonderby  not  to  delay  Mr.  Sonderby  by 
having  dinner  late,  Mr.  Sonderby  began 
eating  at  once. 


By  ELLIS  BARKER  BUTLER. 

“Pauline,”  he  said,  when  he  had  eaten 
his  soup  and  the  chop  was  on  the  table, 
“will  you  run  up  and  bring  me  the  green 
time  table  you  will  find  on  my  dresser?” 

Pauline  brought  it.  Mr.  Sonderby 
had  reasonable  faith  in  his  wife,  but 
women  and  time  tables  are  notoriously 
incompatible,  and  he  just  wanted  to  see 
for  himself.  He  opened  the  time  table 
and  glanced  at  it. 

“Great  Scott!”  he  exclaimed,  and 
threw  his  napkin  on  the  table.  “If 
that  isn’t  like  a woman  ! Seven-thirty, 
indeed!  Why,  that  train  goes  at  seven- 
fifteen,  and  there  isn’t  another  until 
eight-twenty!  I’ve  got  to  hustle!” 


THE  FATE  OF  THE  LAST  PEDESTRIAN. 

As  a matter  of  fact,  Mr.  Sonderby 
could  have  finished  his  dinner  as  usual, 
dressed  as  usual,  walked  to  the  train  as 
usual,  and  could  have  reached  the  sta- 
tion at  seven-fourteen  easily;  but  he 
had  planned  to  catch  a seven-thirty 
train,  and  he  was  a man  of  system.  He 
jumped  up  from  the  table  and  rushed  up 
the  stairs,  tearing  off  his  coat  as  he  ran. 
He  threw  his  coat  on  the  bed,  cast  his 
vest  after  it,  jerked  off  his  collar  and 
tie,  and  in  two  minutes  was  in  the  bath- 
tub. In  another  minute  he  was  out 
again.  No  time  for  a good  rub!  He 
jerked  open  three  drawers  in  his  dresser, 
turned  their  contents  upside  down — al- 
though he  knew  perfectly  well  his  under- 
wear was  in  the  third  drawer.  The 


underwear  wouldn’t  go  on.  It  stuck  in 
a dozen  places  to  his  wet  skin,  and  he 
had  to  inch  it  on  bit  by  bit,  and  even 
then  the  legs  and  arms  were  twisted 
wrong  side  before  and  clung  like  sticky 
flypaper. 

Mr.  Sonderby  dived  at  the  dresser 
drawers  again. 

“Where  are  those  black  silk  socks?” 
he  cried.  “Where  are  they?” 

He  jerked  the  contents  of  three  draw- 
ers out  on  the  floor,  piece  by  piece. 
He  dug  into  his  sock  drawer  like  a baby 
in  a sand  box.  Red  socks,  blue  socks, 
lavender  socks,  but  no  black  socks.  He 
scowled  at  the  dresser  a minute  and 
made  a dive  for  his  wife’s 
dresser.  He  made  that  look  as 
if  a cyclone  had  struck  it,  and 
then  his  eye  caught  the  darning 
bag,  hanging  on  a door  knob. 
He  dumped  its  contents  or  the 
floor  and  searched  the  debris  on 
his  hands  and  knees.  One  sock ! 
One  black  silk  sock,  with  a heel 
hole  as  big  as  the  entrance  to 
the  mammoth  cave!  Mr.  Son- 
derby snorted  his  wrath.  And 
just  at  that  moment  he  saw  his 
underwear,  his  socks,  his  tie, 
and  his  dress  shirt  laid  out 
neatly  on  the  bed. 

“Humph!”  said  Mr.  Son- 
derby. 

The  thin  silk  socks  stuck  to 
his  damp  feet,  and  he  ripped 
one  of  them  almost  in  two,  tug- 
ging at  it.  He  jerked  it  off 
and  began  a hunt  for  black 
thread  and  a needle.  He  opened 
eighteen  different  boxes  and 
twelve  drawers.  At  last  he  found  a 
broken  needle,  with  no  point,  in  a sew- 
ing-machine drawer,  and  a spool  of  lav- 
ender silk,  and  he  spent  five  minutes 
trying  to  thread  the  needle;  but  he  was 
in  such  a hurry  he  couldn’t  do  it.  He 
threw  the  torn  sock  under  the  bed  and  put 
on  the  sock  with  the  hole  in  the  heel. 
Then  he  jumped  for  his  dress  shirt. 

He  had  it  over  his  head  before  he 
thought  of  the  collar  buttons,  and  he 
jerked  it  off  again,  grabbed  his  old 
shirt,  and  shucked  the  collar  and  cuff 
buttons  out  of  it.  There  was  a tinkle 
on  the  floor,  and  Mr.  Sonderby  dropped 
on  his  hands  and  knees  again.  He  had 
lost  a collar  button. 

{Continued  on  fagt  /<?.) 


The  Hillburys  Try  Touring. 


TADSON  HILLBURY  was  a born  in- 
J ventor.  It  came  perfectly  natural 
for  him  to  invent.  It  was  he  who  per- 
fected a boat  driven  by  water-power,  the 
water  being  pumped  by  hand  into  an 
elevated  reservoir  on  board,  and  in  its 
escape  turning  an  overshot  wheel  con- 
nected with  the  propeller.  You  may 
remember  his  successful  experiment 
with  goldfish,  in  which  by  attaching  a 
reversing  contrivance  to  their  fins  he 
made  it  possible  for  them  to  swim  back- 
ward, thus  relieving  their  heads  from 
the  unpleasant  pressure  of  the  water  as 
they  moved  about  in  it.  He  was  also 
the  instigator  of  the  gyroscope  hat, 
which  assured  its  wearer  an  upright  po- 
sition regardless  of  his  state  of  inebria- 
tion. Jadson  Hillbury  was  a benefactor 
to  his  race,  and  the  world  misses  him 
now  that  he  has  de- 
parted. 

Mr.  Hillbury  had  a 
love  for  mild  sport,  a 
fair  income  and  a wife. 

Therefore,  one  evening, 
when  he  read  in  the 
paper  that  the  Rob  Roy 
Traction  Company  was 
having  an  auction  sale 
of  somewhat  obsolete 
taxicabs,  it  was  but 
natural  that  he  became 
interested. 

“Mrs.  Hillbury,”  he 
remarked,  “before  I go 
to  work  capturing  sea- 
gulls to  be  used  on  the 
planes  of  airships  as 
equilibrators,  I’m  going  to  give  you  and 
myself  a treat.  I shall  buy  a taxicab 
and  we  will  tour  through  New  England.  ” 

Mrs.  Hillbury  sighed  and  said,  “Oh, 
Jadson !” 

This  was  not  an  original  remark.  She 
had  said  it  quite  often  before.  There- 
fore Mr.  Hillbury  continued  as  if  noth- 
ing had  happened. 

“You  will  have  the  satisfaction,  Mrs. 
Hillbury,”  he  said,  “of  being  driven  by 
one  who  has  a scientific  mind.  1 have 
never  conducted  a taxicab  in  my  life, 
but,  understanding  the  explosion  of  gas- 
oline and  just  how  it  exerts  its  propel- 
ling force,  I shall  not  bother  to  take  les- 
sons. I shall  not  find  it  necessary  to 
even  lift  the  hood  of  the  motor  before 
we  start  on  our  journey.  Common  sense, 
Mrs.  Hillbury,  is  sufficient. ” 


By  N.  C.  BLEECKER. 

The  car  was  bought  at  a very  reason- 
able figure.  It  was  of  the  vintage  of 
1900,  and  its  ramshackle  appearance 
was  evidence  that  it  had  never  been 
hauled  out  on  dry  dock.  Hillbury’s 
house  was  on  a downhill  stretch  from 
the  garage  and  the  chauffeur  had  no 
trouble  in  delivering  the  vehicle,  as  the 
brakes,  at  least,  were  in  splendid  work- 
ing order. 

Mrs.  Hillbury  and  two  suit  cases 
were  piled  inside,  while  Mr.  Hillbury, 
duster,  gantlets  and  goggles  adjusted, 
prepared  to  officiate  at  the  crank. 

“Aren’t  you  going  to  take  off  that 
taximeter  arrangement?”  Mrs.  Hillbury 
inquired  anxiously. 

“I  should  say  not!”  replied  the  scien- 
tific mind.  “In  the  first  place,  the  ma- 
chinery inside  that  infernal  contraption 


generates  a tremendous  momentum,  so 
that  on  a level  stretch  we  can  shut  off 
the  engine  and  use  it  for  our  motive 
power.  In  the  second  place,  it  will  be 
the  happiest  experience  of  my  life  to 
watch  the  thing  charging  us  to  the  tune 
of  a few  thousand  dollars  in  the  course 
of  the  trip  and  be  able  to  laugh  in  its 
face.  Here  we  go!” 

Hillbury  cranked.  The  engine 
coughed,  expectorated,  sighed  and  be- 
came silent. 

“Hm!”  remarked  Hillbury.  “It’s  on 
the  half  center.  We’ll  coast  down  to 
the  river  road.  That:s  three  miles. 
What’s  the  use  of  wasting  gasoline, 
anyway?” 

He  jumped  aboard  and  released  the 
brakes.  The  machine  glided  toward 
New  England  with  the  noiseless  im- 


pressiveness of  an  electric  runabout. 

“Splendid  coaster,  this!”  said  Hill- 
bury. “Great!  We’ve  gone  two  dol- 
lars and  eighty  cents’  worth  and  it 
hasn’t  cost  a cent.  Now  watch  that 
meter  take  us  over  this  level  stretch.” 

But  the  meter  fell  down  dismally. 
The  car  stopped  gracefully,  and  on  a 
crossroads  leading  into  a popular  tour- 
ing thoroughfare.  Hillbury  manipulated 
the  levers  and  got  out.  He  gave  the 
crank  a turn.  The  engine  started,  so 
did  the  taxicab.  The  born  inventor 
jumped  ahead. 

“Hannah,  reach  through  the  window 
and  do  something  to  some  of  those 
levers!”  he  shouted. 

Mrs.  Hillbury  did  her  best.  She  in- 
advertently threw  in  the  high  gear,  and 
the  speed  of  the  car  increased  consider- 
ably. Mr.  Hillbury  lost 
his  scientific  head.  The 
only  thing  he  could  think 
of  to  do  was  to  run,  so 
he  ran.  Mrs.  Hillbury 
was  cool.  She  decided 
to  experiment  no  further 
with  the  levers,  but,  in- 
stead, grasped  the  near- 
est point  of  the  steering 
wheel,  pulling  at  it 
bravely  and  hollering, 
“Whoa!”  Fortunately, 
the  high-speed  record  of 
the  vehicle  was  a num- 
ber of  seconds  less  to 
the  hundred  yards  than 
Mr.  Hillbury  had  done 
both  in  college  and  later 
as  a commuter,  and  he  skipped  mer- 
rily along,  meanwhile  trying  to  in- 
vent a way  out  of  his  dilemma.  Some 
strange  instinct  guided  Mrs.  Hillbury 
and  she  kept  the  car  in  the  middle 
of  the  road  with  the  skill  of  a gradu- 
ate chauffeur.  Accidentally  her  hand 
touched  a button  on  the  wheel,  and  the 
squawker  bellowed  raucously.  The 
noise  caused  Mr.  Hillbury  to  jump  an 
imaginary  hurdle,  also  to  generate  an 
idea.  He  slowed  down  to  ten  miles  an 
hour,  and  at  the  psychological  moment 
hopped  straight  upward.  The  hood  of 
the  car  passed  under  him  while  in  mid- 
air, and  he  found  himself  in  a sitting 
posture  upon  it.  This  was  not  so  bad. 
He  sat  there,  panting  for  breath  and  not 
daring  to  move,  gazing  helplessly  at  the 

(Continued  on  ige  20.) 


“THE  NOISE  CAUSED  MR.  HILLBURY  TO  JUMP  AN  IMAGINARY  HURDLE.” 


SPRING  BLOSSOMS 


Suffrage  Snapshots. 

By  IDA  HUSTED  HARPER. 

/'""\NLY  a few  weeks  ago  a distin- 
guished  alienist  filled  a page  and 
a half  of  the  Sunday  papers  to  show 
that,  because  women’s  brains  weighed 
less  than  men’s,  they  could  never  hope 
to  reach  man’s  intellectual  height.  Now 
it  is  announced  that  the  brain  of  one  of 
the  country’s  most  noted  physicians, 
who  has  just  died,  weighs  less  than  that 
of  a child.  Can’t  the  scientists  come  to 
some  agreement  as  to  the  exact  brain 
weight  necessary  to  great  achievement, 
so  women  may  know  whether  to  try  or 
not?  But,  come  to  think  of  it,  their 
brains  couldn’t  be  weighed  till  after  they 
were  dead,  so  they’ll  have  to  keep  right 
on  carrying  off  college  prizes  and  pro- 
fessional honors,  just  as  if  their  brains 
and  hands  and  feet  were  as  big  as  a 
man’s. 

□ 

At  the  recent  presidential  primaries 
in  New  York  County,  only  about 
half  the  Republicans  went  to  the 
polls.  In  an  election  district  on 
Long  Island,  just  one  man  voted. 

In  an  Illinois  town,  five  votes 
were  cast,  but  four  were  found 
to  be  illegal.  Similar  reports 
come  from  all  parts  of  the  coun- 
try. President  Taft  and  ex- 
President  Roosevelt  say  that 
when  the  majority  of  women 
show  that  they  want  the  ballot 
they  should  have  it.  The  wom- 
en will  accept  this  condition 
when  it  is  provided  that  the 
men  who  have  the  ballot  and 
don’t  use  it  shall  be  disfran- 
chised. 

□ 

A Florida  woman  writes  to 
the  National  Suffrage  Associa- 
tion for  permission  to  organ- 
ize a troop  of  cavalrywomen, 
arm  them  with  light  rifles,  and 
send  them  to  the  Legislature 
to  get  a suffrage  bill.  The 
Southern  women  have  been 
rather  slow  to  get  started  on 
this  question,  but  when  they 
do  they  will  go  on  horseback 
where  the  Northern  women 
have  gone  on  foot. 

□ 

A “straw”  vote  at  Tufts 
College,  Boston,  resulted  in  a 


majority  of  the  boys  for  Roosevelt  and 
a majority  of  the  girls  for  Taft.  One  at 
Columbia,  New  York,  gave  Taft  a ma- 
jority from  the  boys  and  La  Follette 
from  the  girls.  This  is  a very  fair 
example  of  the  way  men  “represent” 
women. 

Proverbs  for  Suffragists. 

By  E.  L.  SMITH. 

It  takes  two  to  make  a family. 

Too  many  men  spoil  the  nation. 

The  early  word  catches  the  public. 

Time  and  women  wait  for  no  man. 

While  there  is  strife  there  is  hope. 

The  woman  who  hesitates  is  bossed. 

The  laws  that  men  bungle  live  after 
them. 

Anti-suffragists  hear  no  good  of  them- 
selves. 

Man  is  jack  of  all  trades,  but  master 
of  no  woman. 

Half  the  approval  of  a husband  is 
better  than  no  vote. 


A suffragette’s  stone  gathers  no  bail~ 
One  Legislature  does  not  make  a vic- 
tory. 

Where  there’s  a woman,  there’s  a 
way. 

Men  rush  in  where  women  would  tread 
softly. 

Necessity  to  vote  is  the  mother  of  in- 
vective. 

Boss  is  a good  dog,  but  co-operation 
is  better. 

It  is  said  that  barking  “Antis”  sel- 
dom bite. 

Do  not  count  your  reforms  until  the 
laws  are  patched. 

When  women’s  rights  are  in  the  West, 
frightened  menfolk  rule  the  best. 

An  Abiding  Faith. 

Senator  Bailey,  of  Texas,  recently  de- 
faced the  Congressional  Record  with  the 
following  story,  told  on  the  floor  of  the 
Senate : 

A suffragette,  who  had  suffered  many 
trials  and  tribulations,  had 
gone  to  a leader  of  her  politi- 
cal faith  to  confide  her  woes 
and  ask  for  help. 

“My  dear,”  said  the  second 
suffragette,  “put  your  trust  in 
God.  She  will  help  you.” 

A Suffragist  Catechism. 

Question.  Where  is  a wom- 
an’s place? 

Answer.  On  the  inside. 

Q.  Where  is  the  inside? 

A.  It  was  once  on  the  inside. 
It  is  now  on  the  outside. 

Q.  Where  is  the  outside? 

A.  It  was  once  on  the  outside. 
It  is  now  on  the  inside. 

Q.  How  can  a woman  stay  on 
the  inside  when  the  inside  is 
outside  and  theoutside  is  inside? 
A.  Ask  the  anti. 

Q.  Who  is  the  anti? 

A.  One  going  forward  with 
feet  turned  backward. 

Q.  What  is  a vote? 

A.  The  shortest  distance  be- 
tween two  points. 

Q.  What  is  the  “silent  influ- 
ence”? 

A.  An  endless  prayer  with- 
out an  answer.  —Lou  Rogers. 

Results  attained  in  California 
will  be  equaled  in  other  States. 


CORRECTING  AN  ERROR. 


The  Skyscraper  That  Leaned. 


nnHE  STORY  of  the  terrible  heat  ex- 
A perienced  during  July,  1925,  has 
come  down  to  us  of  the  twenty-first  cen- 
tury as  a matter  of  history.  Few  of 
the  present  generation,  however,  have 
heard  of  the  leaning  building  of  Seattle, 
now  the  world’s  metropolis,  and  the 
peculiar  effect  that  it  had  upon  society. 

For  fifteen  consecutive  days  the 
thermometer  in  the  usually  temperate 
Puget  Sound  city  had  registered  140 
degrees.  Asphalt  streets  had  melted 
and  become  seething  canals,  so  that  the 
city,  from  passing  airships,  resembled 
the  Venice  of  a hundred  years  ago. 
Glass  in  the  windows  melted,  while 
the  lakes  in  the  parks  turned  to 
steam  and  disappeared.  The  pop- 
ulation in  a body  sought  the  bath- 
ing beaches,  and  their  lives  were 
preserved  only  by  their  remaining 
immersed  and  subsisting  on  com- 
pressed-food capsules. 

By  far  the  strangest  freak  of  the 
heat  monster  was  its  effect  upon 
the  International  Wireless  Build- 
ing, a structure  of  seventy-eight 
stories,  above  which  rose  a mam- 
moth tower,  its  flagpole  being  fif- 
teen hundred  feet  from  the  earth. 

The  sun,  intensified  by  the  re- 
flection from  the  Sound,  gradually 
melted  the  steel  girders  that 
formed  the  skeleton  of  the  tower, 
causing  it  to  list  to  one  side  in  a 
most  uncanny  manner.  Each  day 
of  the  intense  heat  saw  it  bend  a 
few  degrees  more,  until,  when  the 
cool  wave  finally  arrived,  it  resem- 
bled an  arc  of  a huge  circle,  listing 
twenty-five  degrees  from  its  origi- 
nal upright  position.  When  the 
people  returned  to  their  homes, 
they  gave  the  leaning  tower  a 
wide  berth.  For  days  the  streets  over 
which  it  hung  were  untrodden.  Finally, 
as  no  catastrophe  came,  business  in  the 
vicinity  was  resumed,  and  engineers, 
entering  the  tower  and  carefully  exam- 
ining it,  pronounced  it  as  safe  as  when 
in  its  original  position. 

One  by  one  the  tenants  of  the  thou- 
sands of  offices  in  the  colossal  tower  re- 
turned. Ingenious  artisans  reconstructed 
the  elevators  and  the  office  furniture  to 
conform  to  the  new  lines  of  the  build- 
ing. As  the  elevator  cars  were  of  ne- 
cessity curved,  the  passengers  gradually 
became  accustomed  to  standing  in  a cor- 
responding posture  of  twenty-five  de- 


A Tale  of  2000  A D. 

grees  from  the  normal.  The  legs  of  the 
chairs  and  tables  were  made  to  fit  this 
general  bend,  while  the  mirrors  were 
patterned  after  the  concave  affairs  seen 
in  the  amusement  resorts  at  that  time. 

It  was  only  natural  that  the  curvilin- 
ear condition  of  things  in  the  gigantic 
tower  should  have  its  effect  upon  those 
who  came  in  contact  with  it.  Gradually 
the  occupants  began  to  bend  at  the  waist 
line  in  conformity  with  their  environ- 
ment. Tailors  found  it  necessary  to 
build  trousers  with  one  leg  longer  than 
the  other  for  their  clients  who  occupied 
suites  in  the  building.  A special  form 


of  suspenders  had  to  be  constructed  to 
meet  the  needs  of  the  unequal  shoulders 
that  were  developed.  The  influence 
spread  far  beyond  the  confines  of  the 
monolith.  The  curved  tower  was  visible 
in  all  parts  of  the  city,  and  insidiously 
the  propensity  to  bend  extended,  the 
angle  varying  with  the  distance  of  the 
bender  from  the  tower.  Horses,  dogs 
and  cats  were  affected,  and  even  the 
neighboring  buildings  slid  out  of  plumb 
in  sympathy  with  the  popular  movement. 

If  the  strange  effect  of  this  archi- 
tectural accident  had  stopped  with  phys- 
ical manifestations,  the  incident  would 
hardly  be  worth  while  recording.  But 


matters  went  further.  Soon  a mental 
crookedness  commenced  to  develop. 
Draftsmen  found  themselves  unable  to 
draw  straight  lines,  and  plans  of  build- 
ings were  turned  out  specifying  steel 
girders  of  a twenty-five  per  cent,  curve 
pattern,  while  lumber  mills  were  called 
upon  to  furnish  boards  in  the  shape  of 
the  letter  C.  Business  men  found  them- 
selves unable  to  carry  on  their  transac- 
tions in  a straightforward  manner,  and 
court  procedure  was  of  no  avail,  as  the 
general  malady  extended  all  the  way  to 
the  supreme  bench.  Petty  and  grand 
larceny  were  rampant.  People  were  un- 
able to  walk  from  one  point  to  an- 
other in  a straight  line,  and  thecon- 
sequent  loss  of  time  made  the  keep- 
ing of  appointments  well-nigh  im- 
possible. Wireless  messages  in- 
tended for  New  York  insisted  on 
traveling  in  a circle  and  returning 
to  their  starting  point.  Trains  and 
trolley  cars  ran  off  the  track  wher- 
ever straight  stretches  were  en- 
countered, and  the  roads  were  ope- 
rated only  on  curves,  a procedure 
which  was  found  anything  but  con- 
venient to  commuters. 

Matters  grew  continually  worse, 
until  finally  a mass  meeting  'was 
held  and  it  was  decided  to  condemn 
and  dynamite  the  source  of  the 
trouble.  Here  arose  a problem. 
Millions  of  dollars’  worth  of  prop- 
erty I3  ing  in  its  path  would  be  de- 
stroyed by  its  fall.  An  ex-Presi- 
dent,  known  as  the  Solomon  of  his 
time,  came  to  the  rescue.  He  sug- 
gested that  a chargeof  explosive  be 
used  large  enough  to  blow  the  tower 
into  such  small  atoms  that  they 
would  be  removed  by  the  wind. 
This  scheme  was  successfully  car- 
ried out.  The  offending  tower  was  re* 
moved  from  the  building  and  scattered  to 
four  the  winds,  the  ex-President  himself 
lighting  the  fuse  with  a parabolic  match. 

It  took  a number  of  years  for  the  pop- 
ulation of  the  metropolis  to  straighten 
itself  out.  In  many  cases  surgical  oper- 
ations were  necessary.  People  who  had 
left  the  city  to  escape  the  plague  re- 
turned, and  politics  and  commerce  grad- 
ually assumed  a normal  state.  There 
are  few  living  to-day  who  remember  the 
occasion  as  here  recorded.  The  metrop- 
olis has  lived  it  down  and  proved  the 
truth  of  the  adage  that  time  heals  all 
things.  — c.  g.  ca  tr/tfn. 


“ INSIDIOUSLY  THE  PROPENSITY  TO  BEND  EXTENDED.” 


U n cl  e Sam 


s Boss  Glad  Hander 


OECRETARY  KNOX,  on  his  trip 
through  the  Central  American  re- 
publics, was  interested 
to  learn  that  Costa  Rica 
was  not  much  of  a coun- 
try for  long  speeches. 
Gentlemen  who  insisted 
upon  indulging  in 
lengthy  after  dinner  ora- 
tions were  regarded  with 
particularly  bad  favor.  All  this  pleased 
our  Secretary  of  State,  who  sometimes 
has  to  weather  seven  or  eight  speechi- 
fied banquets  a week  in  his  own  country. 
In  fact,  he  was  so  overjoyed  to  learn  of 
the  Costa  Rican  custom  that' he  immedi- 
ately announced  his  intention  of  living 
there. 


□ 

Some  curious  petitions  were  presented 
to  Mr.  Knox  en  route.  Anybody  who 
had  a grievance  attempted  to  get  it  to 
him  in  some  form  or  another.  In  many 
cases  it  came  to  him  in  the  form  of 
badly  battered  English.  While  he  was 
going  through  one  of  the  most  southern 
of  the  Latin-American  republics,  a hand- 
bill was  put  aboard  his  train.  The 
writer  appeared  to  be  friendly  enough 
to  the  United  States,  but  what  he  said 
about  his  own  government  should  have 
been  printed  on  asbestos.  At  the  end  of 
the  protest,  the  man  presenting  his  trou- 
bles meant  to  urge  the  Secretary  to  be 
sure  to  keep  the  matter  in  mind.  He 
might  have  succeeded  except  for  a fall 
down  in  his  lingo  at  a critical  time,  as 
he  had  written  in  large  letters  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sheet: 

PLEASE  DO  NOT  REMEMBER  THIS. 


Individual  attention  shown  to  various 
persons  by  the  Secretary  of  State  as 
they  were  presented  did  much  to  give 
the  Central  Americans  a more  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  distinguished 
visiting  official.  He  had  some  particu- 
lar comment  for  everybody  introduced. 
No  matter  how  long  the  line  was  or  how 
the  thermometer  stood,  the  greatest 
personal  interest  was  always  shown. 
In  San  Salvador,  at  the  President’s  re- 
ception, one  of  the  ranking  guests  was 
Mr.  Dawson,  the  postmaster-general. 
Mr.  Knox  did  not  catch  his  title  at  the 
first  breath,  but  came  back  strong  a 
minute  later  with,  “Oh,  yes — I under- 
stand now!  Mr.  Dawson  is  the  Salva- 
dorean Hitchcock.” 


H)  ROBERT  D.  HE1NL. 

When  the  wardroom  officers  of  the 
U.  S.  S.  Maryland  gave  a dinner  in 
honor  of  Secretary  Knox,  the  newspaper 
correspondents  in  the  party  were  called 
upon  for  speeches.  Edward  McKernon, 
of  the  Associated  Press,  after  describing 
the  delights  of  the  countries  visited, 
said  that,  nevertheless,  after  hearing 
the  farewell  address  of  the  Secretary, 
he  always  experienced  a feeling  of  hav- 
ing missed  a great  deal.  Mr.  McKernon 
suggested  that,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
less  observing  newspaper  men,  the  Sec- 
retary of  State  reverse  his  policy  and 
deliver  his  farewell  eulogy  on  the  open- 
ing rather  than  the  closing  night  of  the 
engagement. 

□ 

Apropos  to  the  extended  cruise,  Colo- 
nel Gorgas,  sanitary  officer  of  the  Pan- 
ama Canal  zone,  told  Secretary  Knox 
about  the  seasick  man  who  had  arrived 
at  Colon  a few  days  before.  His  ship 
had  been  tempest  tossed  from  the  time 
the  Virginia  Capes  were  passed.  The 
invalid,  after  parting  with  most  of  his 
meals,  was  about  ready  to  give  up  the 
ghost  when  land  was  finally  sighted. 
As  he  came  ashore  at  Colon  after  five 
days  at  sea,  he  sighted  one  of  the  Pan- 
ama Railroad  box  cars  marked  conspicu- 


ously, “P.  R.  R.”  With  an  effort  the 
man  gasped,  “My  heavens!  Why  didn’t 
somebody  tell  me  the  Pennsylvania  Rail- 
road ran  down  here?” 

□ 

No  longer  are  foreign  servants  allowed 
on  our  warships.  The  order  meant  the 
sending  ashore  of  the  Chinese  and  Jap 
helpers,  who  had  shown  themselves  par- 
ticularly well  adapted  to  service  as  stew- 
ards in  the  wardrooms  and  other  parts 
of  the  vessels.  These  employes  were 
all  sworn  in  and  had  certain  drill  duties 
to  perform.  It  was  up  to  them  to  move 
as  lively  as  the  enlisted  men  at  the  time 
of  an  emergency.  Lieutenant  W.  C. 
Barker,  Jr.,  of  the  cruiser  Washington, 
conveying  Secretary  Knox  down  from 
Key  West,  recalled  what  splendid  work- 
ers the  Chinese  were  and  how  loth  they 
were  to  stop  work  even  at  a time  when 


they  were  needed  on  deck.  An  example 
of  this  wras  a laundryman  on  one  of  our 
battleships  in  the  far 
East.  The  bugle  had 
sounded  for  the  “aban- 
don ship”  drill,  but  Mr. 

Chinaman  did  not  show 
up  to  take  his  station  at 
the  lifeboat.  The  officer 
in  command  waited  a 
reasonable  time  for  the 
Celestial  to  appear, 
then  he  sent  a guard 
below  to  bring  the  ab- 
sentee to  time.  The 
Chinaman  finally  came 
to  the  surface,  smiling 
and  calm,  with  scrub- 
bing brush  still  in  hand. 

“Velly  busy  to-day,” 
was  his  suave  explanation.  “Not  so 
busy  to-morrow.  I surely  come  then.” 


Prior  to  leaving  Washington,  one  of 
the  newspaper  men  in  Secretary  Knox’s 
party  called  Dr.  Albert  Hale,  of  the 
Pan-American  Union,  by  ’phone,  to  ask 
him  if  he  knew  of  a concise  and  accurate 
English  guide  to  Latin  America.  Dr. 
Hale,  who  is  alwavs  obliging,  named 
over  several.  The  title  of  one  of  the 
books,  “Practical  Guide  to  Latin  Amer- 
ica,” sounded  good  to  the  inquirer,  and 
he  asked  for  more  information  about  it. 
Dr.  Hale  seemed  a trifle  reluctant. 

“If  you  say  it  is  0.  K.,  I will  get  it,” 
the  man  on  the  telephone  persisted. 

“Do  not  understand  me  as  recommend- 
ing it  too  highly,”  Dr.  Hale  pleaded, 
“because  the  particular  book  about 
which  you  are  inquiring  I myself  am 
the  author  of.” 

□ 

Illustrating  the  easy-going  disposi- 
tion of  some  of  the  growers  in  the 
tropics,  W.  E.  Mullins,  general  manager 
of  the  Costa  Rican  branch  of  the  United 
Fruit  Company,  tells  about  the  planter 
who  wanted  to  be  shown  the  advantage 
of  cultivating  land  for  the  raising  of 
bananas.  The  native  inquired  particu- 


larly  as  to  the  remuneration  and  general 
prospects  of  the  labor. 

“After  putting  the  first  block  of  land 
under  cultivation,”  Mr.  Mullins  ex- 
plained, “with  the  profit  gained  thereby 
you  could  take  over  a larger  piece.” 

“And  then  what?”  the  prospective 
grower  asked. 

“After  that,  a still  greater  area  could 
be  added,  which  would  mean  much  more 
profit.  ” 

“And  then  what?” 

“Decidedly  more  profit.” 

This  didn’t  arouse  any  particular  en- 
thusiasm from  the  inquirer,  who  lan- 
guidly inquired  again,  “And  then 
what?” 

“Then  you  could  retire  and  take 
things  easy. ” 


“Oh,”  said  the  Spaniard,  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders,  “I  do  that  now.  ” 

□ 

Joseph  Bucklin  Bishop,  secretary  of 
the  Isthmian  Canal  Commission,  recalled 
the  visit  of  certain  congressmen  to  the 
home  of  Colonel  Goethals,  boss  canal 
constructor.  One  of  the  members  asked 
how  much  the  house  cost,  receiving  a 
prompt  reply  that  the  amount  was  about 
$28,000.  The  member  opined  that  the 
cost  of  the  homes  of  employes  was  in 
proportion  to  the  salary  the  men  were 
drawing.  He  was  told  that  was  correct. 

“Then  if  I were  living  down  here,” 
the  congressman  went  on,  “I  would  get 
a house  suitable  for  a man  with  a sev- 
enty-five-hundred-dollar  salary.” 

“If  you  were  living  down  here, ” Colo- 
nel Goethals  is  said  to  have  retorted,  not 
being  particularly  impressed 
with  the  ability  of  the  man  talk- 
ing, “you  would  not  be  earning 
seventy-five  hundred  dollars.” 

A Tragedy. 

Susie  had  a little  bite — 

She  got  it  from  her  poodle — 

And  many  kinds  of  abject  fright 
It  caused  within  her  noodle. 

She  wouldn’t  let  them  cauterize, 

For  fear  that  it  would  hurt; 

And  now  poor  Susie’s  body  lies 
Far  underneath  the  dirt. 


Warned  in  Time. 

A recruit  who  for  the  first  time  was 
placed  on  guard  at  a Western  army  post 
knew  little  concerning  military  duty. 

About  three  a.  m.  the  officer  of  the 
day  was  making  an  inspection  of  the 
guard,  and,  approaching  the  post  on 
which  the  recruit  walked,  was  chal- 
lenged : 

“Halt!  Who  goes  there?” 

“The  officer  of  the  day.” 

“Say,  you’d  better  get  over  to  the 
guard  house  as  quick  as  you  can ! The 
sergeant  of  the  guard  has  been  watch- 
ing for  you  ever  since  taps!” 

If  Dr.  Osier’s  suggestion  of  chloro- 
forming elderly  people  was  carried  out, 
what  excuse  could  the  baseball  fans 
offer  to  get  off? 


HOW  THE  TORTOISE  GOT  THERE. 


HE  THOUGHT  OF  LEAP  YEAR. 

She — “I  am  going  to  propose” — 

He  (nervously) — “Why — er — I never  suspected  that" — 
She— “ 1 am  simply  going  to  propose  that  you  say  ‘ good 
night.’  1 hear  father  on  the  stairs.” 


Pa  Tries  a 


u'-PHIS  meat,”  ses  pa,  chewin’  vi- 
A cious,  “is  tough  as  a elephant!” 

“Well,  I can’t  help  it,  Alvin,”  ses 
ma.  “You  are  alwus  talkin’  economy 
an’  tellin’  me  I pay  too  much  fer  what  1 
buy,  an’  if  you  will  have  the  cheap 
cuts,  you  must  expect  to  get  ’em 
tough.  ” 

“Not  at  all!”  grumbled  pa.  “It's 
not  the  meat’s  fault.  It’s  all  in  the 
cookin’.  Trouble  is  you  don’t  know” 

“Oh,  I don’t,  eh?”  ma  chops  in, 
grim’-like.  “I  don’t?  An’  I suppose 
you  do?  I’d  like  to  see  you  tackle  the 
dinner  some  time — only  I’d  want  to 
send  Joe”  (I’m  Joe)  “outer  the  house 
first.  I’d  hate  to  have 
him  hear  you  cookin’!” 
an’  she  tossed  her  head 
suppersilious-like. 

“I’ll  — grump— grump 
— cook  it  termorrow!” 
ses  pa,  with  empasis. 

Pa  wus  havin’  a vaca- 
tion. So  wus  I.  That’s- 
how  I’m  able  to  tell  you 
all  about  it. 

Next  day,  when  it  come 
time  ter  start  the  cookin’, 
pa  wus  absorged  in  his 
paper,  an’  he  didn’t  take 
a bit  kind  to  ma’s  re- 
mindin’ him  of  his  prom- 
ise— his  threat,  she  called 
it. 

“Whatcha  got?”  he 
asks  suspiciously. 

Ma  names  over  the  in- 
greedy  unts. 

“Ugh!”  grunts  pa. 

“It’s  a pity  the  women 
of  ter-day  can’t  run  a 
oven  without  callin’  on 
the  men  folks  to  show  ’em  how.  Well, 
if  I got  to” 

■ Ever  throw  the  reflection  from  a piece 
of  lookin’  glass  onto  a wall?  A smile 
flickered  over  ma’s  face  just  like  that. 
But  pa  never  saw  it. 

He  went  out  inter  the  kitchen.  So 
did  ma.  So  did  I. 

“Don’t  git  in  my  way,  son,”  ses  he. 

“No,  sir-re,  pa!”  ses  I. 

“Now,  then,  Ader,”  ses  pa,  “got  any 
paper  bags?” 

“Any  what?”  ses  ma. 

“Bags — you  heard  me — bags!”  roars 
pa.  “Paper  bags,  I said!” 

“You’ll  find  plenty  in  the  corner  of 
the  pantry  next  the  winder,”  ses  ma. 


Paper 

By  ARTHUR  POWELL. 

“Well,  get  me  a good-sized  one, 
woman,”  ses  he,  “an’  don’t  stand 
yawpin’  there,  doin’  nothin’.” 

Ma  brought  him  a couple  to  select 
from. 

“This’ll  do,”  he  ses.  “Now  watch 
me.  This  here’s  the  new,  economical, 
tasty  way  of  cookin’,”  ses  he.  “You 
put  the  stuff  inter  a paper  bag,  an’  the 
bag  inter  the  oven,  an’  there  you  are. 
No  dirty  cookin’  utensils  to  wash,  no 
loss  of  flaver,  no. waste;  everythin’  ten- 
der an’  juicy  an’  suckleunt.  Got  a good 
fire?” 

“Fire’s  all  right,”  ses  ma,  “an’  the 
oven’s  good  an’  hot.” 


“That’s  right!  That’s  good!”  ses 
pa;  an’  he  takes  some  meat  an’  the 
vegetables  ma  had  fixed,  an’  a little 
water,  an’  dumps  ’em  all  inter  the  paper 
bag. 

“Now,  quick!”  ses  he,  “an’  open  the 
oven  door!” 

So  ma  opens  the  door  an’  pa  pops  in 
the  dinner,  bag  an’  all. 

“What’s  the  time?  Half-past  eleven? 
In  forty  minutes  it’ll  be  done  ter  the 
queen’s  taste — that’s  you,  m’  dear!” 
chuckles  pa.  It  alwus  makes  pa  happy- 
like  an’  jokey  when  he  does  anythin’  he 
thinks  is  real  clever. 

So  pa  goes  back  to  his  paper,  an’  once 
in  a while  he  hollers  out  a funny  story 


Bag. 

to  ma.  Bime-by  he  gets  a little  rest- 
less. 

“Can’t  you  smell  somethin’  burnin’, 
Ader?”  he  ses. 

“I  should  think  it  might  be  the  bag, 
Alvin,”  ses  ma. 

“Gut  ss  we’d  better  have  a look  at  it!” 
he  ses,  jumpin’  up. 

He  opens  the  oven,  an’  there  sets  the 
bag,  sayin’  nuthin’  ter  nobuddy,  but 
turnin’  black  in  the  face,  all  right. 

“Hum!”  ses  pa,  pickin’  it  with  his 
finger,  sort  of  doubtfully.  “Looks  all 
right  ter  me!” 

Then  he  lets  out  a howl  an’  a wicked 
word,  an’  dances  an’  shakes  his  hand, 
’cos  he’d  touched  the  hot 
oven  with  ic  an’  got  some 
burn,  I tell  you! 

Ma  soothes  him  down, 
shuts  the  oven  door,  an’ 
"fixes  his  burn  up  with 
some  soap.  Some  irri- 
tated, he  resoomed  his 
paper. 

A bit  later  he  got  wor- 
ried again  about  the  din- 
ner, an’ back  to  the  stove 
he  goes. 

“Hold  on,  Alvin!”  ses 
ma.  “Better  let  me  open 
the  oven.  I’m  used  to  it. 
You  might  burn  yourself 
again.” 

“I  guess  I know  what 
I'm  doin’!”  snaps  pa. 
“Trouble  is  this  stove 
isn’t  built  right.  I told 
you  so  when  you  got  it.” 
“I  don’t  remember 
that” — begins  ma;  but 
he  had  the  oven  door  open, 
peerin’  at  the  bag. 

All  of  a dreadful  sudden  there  wus  a 
bang  like  a automobile  tire  blowin’  up, 
and  pa  leapt  away  from  the  oven,  with 
a good  part  of  the  dinner  stickin’  to  his 
face.  That  kitchen  wus  a awful  place, 
I can  tell  you,  for  the  next  five  minutes! 
Scalded,  half  blind,  an’  rippin'  out  the 
most  frightful  language,  pa  pranced  up 
an’  down  the  floor,  wipin’  the  stuff  out 
of  his  eyes.  Ma  follered  him  back  an’ 
forth,  scared  fifteen  ways  ter  Chrismus, 
an'  askin’  him  every  second  or  so  if  he 
wus  hurt.  Me?  Well,  I figgered  under 
the  table  wus  the  safest  place  fer  me! 

Laugh?  I couldn’t  ’ve  helped  it  if  I 
wus  ter  have  died  fer  it!  I laughed  fit 
ter  split — but  quiet-like,  so  pa  wouldn’t 


“ ‘ PA  LEAPED  AWAY  FK01I  THE  OVEN  WITH  A GOOD  PORTION  OP  THE  DINNER 
STICKIN’  TO  HIS  FACE.’  ” 


hear  me.  I figgered  he  wus  in  no  condi- 
tion ter  see  me  fer  a good  while.  But 
that’s  where  the  figgers  lied. 

“Joseph,”  he  hellers,  “Joseph,  you 
walk  right  along  upstairs,  an’  when  I 
get  outer  the  hospitle  I’ll  give  you  the 
hottest  lickin’  you  ever  had  in  your 
life!” 

When  pa  shouts  up  like  that,  you’d 
better  get  out.  I went 
up  to  my  room  an’  rolled 
on  the  bed,  an’ laughed 
with  my  mouth  until  I 
wus  cryin’  at  the  eyes, 
an’  then  whooped  her  up 
some  more,  till  1 began 
to  wonder  where  dinner 
wus  cornin’ frum.  Later 
I found  ma  had  rescued 
somethin’  frum  the 
wreck  an’  had  finished 
it  in  a stewpan,  civil- 
ized fashion. 

When  everythin’  wus 
ready  an’  pa  bandaged 
up  an’  quieted  down, 
she  calls  me.  We  sat 
down,  with  a smell  of 
burnin’  in  the  air,  an’ 
begun  ter  eat.  Nobuddy 
said  nothin’  fer  the 
longest  time.  Finally 
pa  ses,  in  a chastened 
tone, 

“Ader,  what  does  this  taste  like  ter 
you?” 

“Well,”  ses  ma,  kind  of  weighin’  the 
question,  “I  should  say  the  flavor  wus 
half  charcoal  an’  half  paper  bag,  Alvin !” 

“Huh!”  ses  pa,  with  infinut  disgust. 

Wife — “What  is  a referendum?” 

Husband — “Search  me  ! I don’t  know 
whether  it’s  a soft  drink  or  a part  of  an 
aeroplane. ” 


Sleeves. 

Oh,  are  they  short  or  long  this  year? 

And  are  they  large  and  puffed, 

Or  tight,  so  that  fat  arms  appear 
Like  sausages,  well  stuffed? 
Whatever  else  their  shape  may  be, 

A protest  we  would  utter 
’Gainst  huge  puffs  at  the  wrists,  that  we 
Drag  surely  through  the  butter. 


GUfS5  YOUR 
WEIGHT  OR  YOUR 
MONEY  BACK! 


Willie  Elephant  (looking  at  sign  over  scales) — “ By  jingo,  old  man, 
I ’ll  go  you  ! Here 's  yer  nickel.’’ 


No  Cinch. 

Lulu’s  mother  heard  a great  splashing 
in  the  bathroom,  and,  upon  investiga- 
tion, found  her  little  daughter  standing 
in  the  partially  filled  tub,  in  a most  be- 
drabbled  condition. 

“Why,  you  see,  mamma,”  she  ex- 
plained, “I’ve  been  trying  to  walk  on 
the  water,  and  it’s  no  fool’s  job,  let  me 
tell  you !” 

Show  Time. 


Appropriate. 

Willis — “Why  do  you  call  your  ma- 
chine a ‘she’?” 

Gillis — “It  is  said  to  be  the  ‘last 
word’  in  automobile  construction.” 

On  the  Free  List. 

She  was  a stately  and  important-look- 
ing dame,  quite  accustomed  to  holding 
a high  hand;  he  was  a 
customs  inspector,  who 
refused  to  have  any  of 
| his  rights  and  duties 

abrogated. 

She — “ J u s t wearing 
apparel  in  these  bags; 
nothing  dutiable,  sir.” 
He  (tumbling  about 
silk  dressing  sacks,  toi- 
let articles  and  travel- 
ing accessories,  brings 
out  a bottle  of  cognac) 
— “You  said  wearing 
apparel !” 

She  (with  a wither- 
ing look) — “My  hus- 
band’s nightcap,  sir!” 

Taking  No  Chances. 

“Be  careful  in  select- 
ing a husband,  girls!” 
cried  the  noted  lecturer. 
“After  all,  man  is 
somewhat  like  a bal- 
loon. He” 

Before  she  could  continue  with  the 
simile,  a sweet  young  thing  near  the 
platform  called  out, 

“I’ll  take  a dirigible!” 


Binks — “What  verse  in  the  Bible  best 
describes  the  college  student?” 

Jinks — “ ‘They  toil  not,  neither  do 
they  spin,  yet  Solomon  in  all  his  glory 
was  r.ot  arrayed  like  one  of  these.’  ” 


When  Jimpsy’s  dressed  for  Sunday, 
He  is  beauty  fine,  I 
Guess ! 

You  ought  to  see  the  flounces 
And  the  l£ces  on  his 
Dress ! 

And  baby  pins  and  ribbons, 

All  the  dainty  pinks  and 
Blues ! 


The  cutest  little  stockings 
And  the  dearest  pair  of 
Shoes ! 

Oh,  my  ! but  he  is  handsome! 
And  his  daddy’s  mighty 
Proud ! 

And  all  the  other  babies 
Are  a homely  little 

Crowd  ! Irvine  Juntin. 


THE  FIRST  ROBIN 


“But  what  did  you  mean 
by  tooting  the  horn?’’ 

“Nothing.  Only  I’ve  finally 
got  it  to  working.  Listen! 
(Honk -honk!  Toot -toot!) 
Isn’t  that  great?’’ 

Marital  Success. 

FIVE  years  ago  he  said  to 
me,  when  I was  blushing 
twenty-three,  “Oh,  won’t  you 
spend  your  life  with  me?’’ 

“Dear  heart,”  I answered 
him,  “I  will  the  round  of  life 
with  you  fulfill,  love,  honor, 
and  obey  until” 

So  we  were  wedded  rather 
soon  and  passed  a blissful 
honeymoon,  alone,  together, 
and  atune. 

Five  years  ago — you’d  rath- 
er wince  at  such  an  odd  coinci- 
dince — I’ve  really  hardly  seen 
him  since ! 

We’re  married  still,  it’s 
very  true,  and  really  quite  de- 
voted, too;  but,  then,  we’ve 
both  had  much  to  do. 

At  first  it  was  just  business 
that  kept  hubbie  always  at  the 
bat,  while  I ran  Mary  and 
the  flat. 

Next,  family  funds  to  reim- 
burse, high  finance  marked 
him  with  her  curse,  while  I 
had  baby  and  her  nurse. 

And,  after  that,  he  under- 
took to  “boost”  new  projects; 
I forsook  things  generally  to 
keep  the  cook. 


arssc 

I fiS 

all1  ' 

JOHN’S  OBJECTION 

Wife — ‘ I 'm  afraid  mother  is  not  well.  I don  t quite  like  her  looks. 
Do  you,  John  ? 1 

John — ' No.  I never  did.” 


The  Prize  Grouch. 

An  Ohio  town  has  a prize 
grouch,  who  refuses  to  believe 
anything  that  does  not  lie 
within  the  range  of  his  own 
knowledge.  He  doubted  the 
word  of  an  acquaintance  who 
told  him  about  seeing  a num- 
ber of  robins  during  a recent 
cold  snap  in  that  section. 

“There  ain’t  no  robins 
around  here  at  this  time  of  the 
year,”  he  said,  “and  no  one 
can  make  me  believe  they  seen 
any.” 

At  that  very  moment  a robin 
happened  to  fly  into  a small 
tree  near  at  hand,  and  the 
friend  pointed  to  it. 

“Doggone  it!”  growled  the 
positive  one.  “You’d  do  any- 
thing to  make  me  out  a liar, 
wouldn’t  you?” 

Before  and  After. 

He  called  her  his  ideal, 

Ere  he  and  she  were  wed ; 
She  soon  proved  his  ordeal, 

And  he  wishes  he  were  dead  ! 

One  Look  Did  It. 

“How  did  the  aviator  come 
to  fall  to  the  earth?” 

“He  was  flying  over  Boston 
and  happened  to  look  down 
on  the  crooked  streets,  and 
became  dizzy  for  the  first  time 


As  president  he’s  in  demand;  a maid 
and  butler  I command,  a chauffeur,  foot- 
man, and  a band. 

A captain  now  of  industry,  you  read 
of  his  philanthropy;  but  home’s  the 
sphere  for  little  me. 

Our  paths  diverge — it  seems  they 
“have  ter.”  It  really  is  a thought  for 
laughter — “They  both  lived  happ’ly  ever 
after.” 

Bakery  or  Beggary  ? 

“What  line  is  poor  old  Slippup  in 
now?” 

“Last  I heard  he  was  in  the  bread 


An  Innovation. 

The  raven  deposited  food  and  drink  at 
Elijah’s  feet. 

“So  far  as  I know,”  quoth  the  bird 
to  the  prophet,  “this  is  the  first  time 
the  consumer  has  been  dealt  with  di- 
rectly, thus  saving  the  middleman’s 
profits.  ” 

If  He  Had  Only  Mr. 

There  once  was  an  amorous  Mr., 

Who  on  meeting  a girl  always  kr. ; 

But  one  night,  at  the  gate, 

He  found,  when  too  late, 

He’d  been  kissing  the  chauffeur’s  black 


in  his  experience  as  a sky  navigator.” 

A Nautical  Feast. 

“Shiver  my  timbers!”  cried  a ship- 
wrecked tar. 

“We’ll  starve,  there  is  no  doubt!” 
“Not,”  cried  another,  “while  this  wind 

Blows  foul  and  chops  about!” 

The  story  from  Cincinnati  to  the  ef- 
fect that  a man  there  found  six  pearls 
worth  $900  in  a fifteen-cent  oyster  stew 
might  be  accepted  in  that  town,  but  it 
was  not  worth  exportation.  Pearls  that 
have  been  cooked  are  fit  only  to  cast 


line.” 


sr. 


before  swine. 


A CHOICE  LINE  OF  ANTIQUES 


“AND  HE  FELL  AMONG  THIEVES  I" 


Johnnie’s  Primer  Lesson. 

By  HARROLD  SKIHSER. 

Topic — Cooks. 

0— 0— K,  Cook.  OH, 
see  the  jol-ly  Cook ! Is 
the  Cook  roast  ing  the  goose? 

Oh,  no ! the  Cook  is  not 
roasting  the  goose.  The 
Cook  is  roast-ing  me! 

Is  she  try-ing  to  cook  her 
goose? 

Nay,  nay ! she  is  try-ing 
to  cook  my  goose ! The  Cook 
is  mad.  She  is  put-ting  on 
her  hat.  She  has  quit. 

GEE!  How  will  we  get 
our  sup-per,  then? 

We  don’t  get  any  sup-per. 
We  have  to  get  another 
Cook. 

How  will  you  get  another 
Cook? 

1 will  buy  another  Cook. 

Will  she  cook  after  you 
have  bought  her? 

No,  she  will  not  cook. 
She  will  quit  before  she  will 
cook. 

Then  what  will  you  do  for 
a Cook? 

Buy  another  one. 

How  will  you  keep  the 
other  Cook? 

Give  her  forty  dol-lars  a 
week,  the  use  of  the  draw- 


£ 


“LAND  ON  OUR  PORT  QUARTER,  SIR  I” 

(As  it  might  have  been  on  the  morning  of  October  13th,  1492  ) 


ing  room  and  the  piano, 
al-low  her  to  take  six  aft- 
er-noons off  duty  every 
week,  and  a com-mis-sion  on 
the  house  bills.  Then  I will 
send  my  wife  to  the  coun-try, 
drown  the  cat,  give  the  poodle 
to  the  dog  catch-er,  take  all 
of  my  own  meals  across  the 
street,  and  pre-sent  the  new 
Cook  with  a nice  red  tour-ing 
car  for  her  birth-day. 

What  will  she  do  when 
you  give  her  the  car?  Will 
she  cook? 

No-oo-oo ! She  will  go  out 
to  hunt  another  job! 

Retribution. 

“Since  the  revolution  Chi- 
namen have  taken  to  wear- 
ing European  clothes.” 

“Good!  Now  that  Chink 
who  has  been  putting  saw 
edges  on  my  collars  and  cuffs 
will  get  a dose  of  his  own 
medicine !” 


The  Other  Extreme. 

“Going  to  see  the  play?” 
“What  is  it?” 

“Clothes.” 

“No;  I think  I’ll  take  in 
a burlesque  show.” 


1492 


1912 


A L 

\ /ERSE  riveting  and  joke  hammering 
v have  been  regarded  for  a long  time 
as  intellectual  tasks,  calling  for  genius 
bordering  on  the  occult.  It’s  about 
time  to  strip  pretense  and  come  out 
with  the  solemn  truth.  Anybody  can 
rivet  a verse  or  hammer  a joke.  It’s 
easier,  far  easier,  than  mixing  a fruit 
cake. 

To  write  verse  you  provide  yourself 
with  pen,  ink,  paper,  and  a dictionary 
of  rhymes  and  synonyms.  Proceeding  to 
the  first  step,  you  dip  your  pen  into  the 
paste  pot.  Quickly  discovering  your 
mistake,  you  wipe  it  off  and  try  the  ink. 


Then,  consulting  your  rhyming  diction- 
ary, you  set  down  terminal  words,  as, 
for  example: 

blue 

sky 

you 

eye 

true 

die. 

You  then  start  your  metronome,  or, 
if  you  haven’t  a metronome,  the  tick  of 
grandfather’s  clock  will  do.  Measuring 
your  feet  and  accent  by  the  clock’s  tick, 
you  fill  in  thus: 

Your  nose  is  red,  your  eyes  are  blue — 
As  blue  as  summer’s  sky; 

I think  that  I could  marry  you 
And  never  bat  an  eye. 

If  this  is  not  exactly  true, 

I hope  that  I may  die. 

The  first  six  or  seven  times  you  may 
have  difficulty  making  the  sense  hitch; 
but,  like  driving  nails  or  playing  a piano, 
that’s  merely  a matter  of  practice.  Af- 
ter you’ve  got  the  hang  of  it,  after 
you’ve  learned  to  differentiate  between 
a couplet,  a triolet,  a quadruped,  and  a 
sonnet,  you  simply  sit  down  any  time 


iterary  Exp 

R,  HENRY  EDWARD  WARNER. 

you’re  not  doing  something  else  and  rat- 
tle ’em  off. 

Joke  hammering  is  a distinct  trade, 
allied  with  verse  riveting  only  as  a sort 
of  second  cousin.  It  is  a trifle  more 
difficult,  unless  you  get  into  the  swing 
of  never  writing  anything  really  funny. 
If  you  write  anything  funny,  some  edi- 
tor will  go  and  buy  it,  and,  of  course, 
that  spoils  it  as  a joke. 

To  hammer  a joke,  you  just  think  of 
something  funny  and  put  it  in  (a)  con- 
versational form,  (b)  verse,  or  (c)  nar- 
rative. To  get  ideas,  make  a practice 
of  attending  serious  sessions  of  sages, 
such  as  the  American  Association  for 
the  Advancement  of  Science.  Take  al- 
most any  sentence  in  a patriotic  speech, 
separate  it  from  the  context,  and  you 
have  a joke.  Another  fruitful  source  of 
merriment  is  the  home  circle,  as  fol- 
lows : 

1.  Mother-in-law  coming  to  visit. 

2.  Wife  waiting  upstairs  on  club 
night. 

3.  Sister  bribing  small  brother  not  to 
tell  suitor  about  her  hair  and  hips. 

4.  Cook  thinking  g-a-s-o-l-i-n-e  spells 
coal  oil. 

Example : 

Mrs.  Smith — '‘Mother  is  coming  to 
live  with  us,  George.” 

George  Smith — ‘‘Oh,  joy!” 

Now,  you  see,  that  is  a real  joke,  the 
idea  being  that  George  doesn’t  want  his 
mother-in-law  at  all!  And,  again: 

Eve — ‘‘If  you  don’t  behave,  I’m  going 
home  to  my  mother!” 

Adam — ‘‘Aw,  g’wan  ! You  ain’t  got 
no  mother!” 

Garden  of  Eden  jokes  like  the  above 
sell  readily  in  a low  market.  But  it’s 
just  as  well  not  to  push  too  far  back  into 
Biblical  history,  because  the  present 
generation  may  recognize  only  its  fa- 
vorite authors. 

Generally  speaking,  poets  and  jokers 
are  born,  not  made.  For  that  reason, 
some  people  favor  race  suicide. 

Referring  again  just  for  a moment  to 
verse  riveting,  attention  might  be  called 
to  several  distinct  advances  in  rhyming 
words,  product  of  the  decade.  For  in- 


o s e . 

stance,  home  rhymes  own,  love  rhymes 
enough,  pose  rhymes  clothes,  lemon 
rhymes  woman,  man  rhymes  ham.  You 
won’t  find  these  examples  in  Tom  Hood’s 
little  book,  but  you’ll  find  them  in  the 
lyrics  of  “Everywoman,”  and  the  comic 
opera  and  musical  play  lyrics  are  full  of 
them— which  is  sufficient  authority  for 
any  twentieth-century  poet. 

This  expose  is  necessarily  short,  but 
we  stand  ready  to  challenge  doubters  and 
produce  cumulative  evidence  that  verse 


riveting  and  joke  hammering  are  easy 
trades  and  not,  oh,  very  not,  at  all 
difficult. 

(The  author  will  give  lessons  to  be- 
ginners; guaranteed  course  by  mail; 
verse  or  joke  mangling,  ancient  or  mod- 
ern; pupils  must  furnish  their  own 
hypodermics.) 

Esprit  d’Corps. 

A flutist  who  joined  a drum  corps 
Played  his  part  out  of  time  morps  and 
morps, 

Till  the  drum  major  said, 

“Please  remember,  dumbhead, 

That  the  time  is  toot-two,  not  forps- 
forps !” 

A Youthful  Solomon. 

A school  inspector  asked  the  children 
if  they  could  quote  any  text  of  Scripture 
which  forbade  a man  having  two  wives. 
One  of  the  children  sagely  quoted  in 
reply  the  text,  “No  man  can  serve  two 
masters.  ” 


THROUGH  JUDGE’S  OPERA  GLASSES 


These  girls  so  fair,  who  dance  and  play 
Along  the  Weberfieldian  way, 

Might  for  the  Muses  nine  be  posed 
If  in  more  classic  dress  inclosed. 


Each  charmer,  in  a solo  part. 

Would  agitate  the  hardest  heart ; 

And  when  combined,  as  they  are  here. 
They  ’ll  set  on  fire  all  hearts,  1 fear.-J  a.  w. 


THE  EYES  HAVE  IT. 


1 


THE  MODERN  W 


Suffrage  Snapshots. 

By  IDA  HUSTED  HARPER 

1WIARY  JOHNSTON,  havi  g had  such 
* 1 good  luck  dealing  with  fiction, 
thought  she  would  try  the  Virginia 
Legislature.  She  asked  for  a woman- 
suffrage  bill  and  said  women  were  tired 
of  traveling  in  an  ox  cart,  while  men 
went  by  airship.  The  legislators  said 
she  was  mistaken  about  the  airship,  and 
they  could  never,  never  drag  lovely 
woman  down  to  their  level.  Mary  con- 
cluded that  by  comparison  with  this 
level  the  ox  cart  itself  was  really  an 
airship. 

□ □ 

Perhaps  in  the  United  States  women 
should  not  vote  because  they  cannot 
fight,  but  the  man  who  said  this  in 
England  would  have  to  run  to  cover. 

n □ 

The  New  York  “antis”  have  hied 
them  to  Ohio  to  keep  woman  suffrage 
out  of  the  new  constitution.  They 
stirred  up  the  Columbus  “antis”  to  go 
before  the  committee,  and,  as  a result, 
as  soon  as  they  went  out  and  shut  the 
door,  it  voted,  twenty  to  one,  to  put  in 
a suffrage  plank.  Now  they  are  circu- 
lating a petition  saying  that  “to  force 
the  franchise  on  an  unwilling  electorate 
would  be  dangerous  to  the  State.”  If 
they  were  so  unwilling  they  didn’t  use 
it,  there  would  be  much  less  danger  to 
the  State  than  if  they  did.  Their  motto 
is:  “The  womanly  woman  does  not  wish 
to  vote.”  No;  all  she  wishes  is  to  go 
over  the  country  making  anti-suffrage 
speeches,  organizing  clubs,  addressing 
Legislatures  and  conventions,  getting 
up  petitions,  and  spreading  the  gospel 
that  “woman’s  place  is  at  home.”  She 
would  not  vote — oh,  no! — not  until  she 
got  a chance;  and  then  the  suffragists 
would  have  to  rise  early  to  get  to  the 
polls  first. 

□ □ 

A bill  providing  that  men  in  work- 
houses  shall  We  allowed  wages,  which 
will  be  paid  to  their  families,  will  be 
submitted  to  the  voters  in  Colorado.  It 
is  not  hard  to  guess  what  the  women 
will  do  with  that  bill.  The  longer  they 
can  keep  a husband  in  the  workhouse, 
the  more  money  it  will  be  in  their  pock- 
ets; and  if  he  doesn’t  behave  when  he 
comes  out,  they  can  afford  to  send  him 
right  back. 


The  big  anti-suffrage  meeting  in  Al- 
bert Hall,  London,  was  crowded  with  the 
nobility.  About  the  same  time  the 
delegates  to  the  Labor  Congress,  repre- 
senting a million  and  a half  members, 
voted  to  stand  by  the  suffragists.  As 
long  as  they  can  depend  on  the  working- 
men, they  needn’t  worry  over  little 
things  like  lords  and  ladies. 

□ □ 

The  Men  and  Religion  Forward  Move- 
ment is  imploring  women  to  persuade 
the  men  to  go  to  church,  and  a Baptist 
minister  in  Philadelphia  says  that  any 


WHY  FEAR  HIM? 

Bogie — ‘ Politics  is  no  place  for  women  ” 
Enfranchised  woman — Why.  girls,  it 's 
nothing  but  straw  !’ 

kind  of  sensationalism  in  a sermon  is 
justifiable  if  it  keeps  the  men  of  the 
congregation  awake.  If  everything  else 
fails,  how  would  it  do  to  try  women  in 
the  pulpit? 

Repartee  at  a Street  Corner 
Meeting. 

Scoffing  man — “You  suffragettes 
ought  to  live  in  those  European  coun- 
tries where  women  and  donkeys  hitched 
together  draw  heavy  loads.  Then  you’d 
be  of  some  use.  ” 

Suffragette — “Are  you  married?” 
Scoffing  man — “Of  course.” 
Suffragette — “Evidently  the  custom 
you  mention  is  not  confined  to  foreign 
lands.  ” 


OMAN 

Winners  in  Judge’s 
“Ten  Reasons”  Contest. 


FIRST  PRIZE,  $10.00 

Mbs.  OLIVE  H.  RABE,  6715  Southport  Avenue. 
Chicago,  111. 

Five  Winners  ol  a Year’s  Subscrip- 
tion Each: 

CORNELIA  GREENOUGH,  4810  Trinity  Place, 
Philadelphia,  Pa. 

JAMES  LINCOLN,  Box  17,  Back  Bay  P.  O., 
Boston,  Mass. 

ROBERT  C.  FINK,  231  BiddL  Street.  Kane.  Pa. 
Miss  ANNA  G.  ROCKWELL,  New  Britain,  Ct. 
FREDERICK  G.  SWANSON.  Gorgona,  Canal 
Zone. 


Fifteen  hundred  replies  were  received 
as  a result  of  Hi3  Honor’s  invitation  to- 
his  readers  to  submit  their  reasons  why 
women  should  vote.  Every  corner  of 
the  globe  was  heard  from.  The  ages  of 
the  contestants  ranged  from  fifteen  to 
eighty-six.  Many,  in  their  enthusiasm, 
failed  to  heed  the  500-word  limit;  others 
either  did  not  reach  or  overstepped  the 
mark  in  the  number  of  reasons  given. 
The  judges,  chosen  from  among  the  most 
able  of  the  suffrage  leaders,  found  theirs 
no  light  task.  They  sifted  the  immense 
pile  of  letters  slowly  and  carefully,  and 
their  final  decision  may  be  looked  upon 
as  eminently  fair  and  unprejudiced. 
His  Honor  thanks  them  for  their  excel- 
lent service. 

The  winning  ten  reasons  appear  on 
page  18  of  this  issue.  The  five  next 
best  will  follow  in  succeeding  issues. 

A Suggestion. 

When  schools  have  been  provided  for  the 
children  in  the  streets, 

When  the  little  ones  no  more  are  made 
to  toil ; 

When  sweatshops  are  no  longer  and  the 
race  has  been  made  stronger, 

When  the  law  does  not  defend  the 
grafter’s  spoil; 

When  aid  is  freely  given  to  the  needy, 
worthy  poor; 

When  recompense  is  made  for  every 
hurt; 

When  the  time  is  resurrected  that  a 
woman,  unprotected, 

May  not  find  her  path  obstructed  by  a 
flirt; 

When  the  shift  of  fifteen  hours  in  the 
factory  and  shop, 

Whereby  hope  and  light  and  joy  are 
made  remote. 

Has  been  completely  ended;  when  the 
helpless  are  befriended — 

Then  the  woman  will  not  care  about 
the  vote. 


UNNATURAL  HISTORY 

The  Crab. 


LESSONS. 


/CHILDREN,  I have  before  me  a large  and  lively  crab. 

Let  us  study  the  map  of  this  crab.  He  has  a lump  in 
his  throat  which  in  our  case  would  be  an  Adam’s  apple.  In 
his  case  it  is  called  a crab  apple.  The  crab  has  a peculiar 
way  of  walking.  If  he  started  to  stroll  up  Broadway,  he 
would  find  himself  sailing  east  on  Fourteenth  Street.  He 
is  not  a straightforward  individual,  you  see.  How  he 
would  love  to  bite  me!  But  he  cannot,  for  1 have  placed  a 
stick  between  his  bicuspids.  His  mouth  is  wide  open  in 
astonishment  and  chagrin.  He  is  lying  on  his  back  and 
looking  up  at  the  bright  sunshine.  Is  he  happy?  I do  not 
know  and  1 do  not  care,  for  did  he  not  nearly  bite  my  pedal 
digit?  Soon  I will  place  him  in  a pot  of  boiling  water  and 
he  will  boil  over  with  enthusiasm.  Later  I will  smother 
him  in  mayonnaise.  I will  lay  his  claws  on  the  table  for 
discussion.  The  biter  will  be  bitten.  A tooth  for  a tooth 
is  a good  motto.  Here  is  the  lesson  the  crab  teaches: 

Oh,  crab!  oh,  naughty  crab! 

You  tried  to  grab 
My  little  toe  and  bring  me  woe ! 

But,  no,  oh,  dreaded  foe ! 

I made  a jab  with  a slab, 

And  turned  you  o’er. 

You’ll  bite  no  more 
(Unless  I have  a fiasco 
With  the  tabasco). 

It  serves  you  right — 

You  tried  my  toe  to  bite, 

You  attacked  my  constitution, 

And  here’s  your  retribution. 

So  long,  you  crabbed  sinner! 

We’ll  meet  again  at  dinner! 


U B B L E S 


B 


“ THERE  ARE  IN  EXISTENCE  SOMETHING  LIKE  THIRTY  MILLION  PRESCRIPTIONS  FOR  A COLD.” 


A Cold  in  the  Head 


IF  ANDREW  CARNEGIE  will  listen 
1 to  some  kindly  and  disinterested  ad- 
vice from  a man  who  knows  all  about 
getting  rid  of  surplus  capital  without 
hiring  extra  help,  he  will  quit  throwing 
money  at  that  elusive  bird  called  the 
dove  of  peace  and  utilize  a part  of  his 
wad  in  endowing  a cure  for  a cold  in  the 
head.  I do  not  know  of  any  one  thing 
that  would  cause  as  much  peace  on  earth 
and  make  Mr.  Rockefeller  so  jealous  as 
for  Mr.  Carnegie  to  find 
a cold-in-the-head  remedy 
that  will  rem. 

I read  the  other  day 
about  some  surgeon  in 
New  York  who  made  a 
new  stomach  for  a man, 
and  it  seemed  like  a great  triumph  of 
science;  but  that  same  man  may  sit  in 
a draft  to  morrow  and  die  of  a cold  in 
the  head.  The  surgeon  that  did  the 
cutting  may  step  in  a pile  of  slush  on  his 
way  home  and  die  the  same  ignominious 
death,  with  all  the  doctors  in  New  York 
powerless  to  stop 
him. 

It  does  seem 
that,  in  these 
days  of  wireless 
telephones,  love- 
less marriages, 
and  clothesless 
dancers,  we 
ought  to  have 
progressed  far 
enough  to  do 
something  about 
a cold  in  the 
head.  But  ,we 
haven't.  The 
doctors  are  in- 
venting new  dis- 
eases every  year 
and  designing 


By  W.  KEE  MAXWELL. 

novelties  in  surgical  operations  hand 
over  fist,  but  colds  in  the  head  continue 
just  as  common  as  if  they  had  no  com- 
petition at  all. 

A cold  in  the  head  is  so  cheap  and 
democratic  that  most  everybody  has  one 
or  two  every  winter,  regardless  of  race, 
color,  or  previous  condition  of  servitude. 
This  may  be  one  reason  why  doctors  pay 
so  little  attention  to  it.  If  Mr.  Carnegie 
would  hire  some  one  to  give  it  a four- 
syllable  name  and  invent  a five-hundred- 
dollar  operation  for  it,  a cold  in  the  head 
might  get  some  medical  attention. 

Nothing  awakens  one  to  a realization 
of  the  seriousness  of  a disease  of  this 
kind  so  much  as  having  it.  Ordinarily, 
I confess,  the  sight  of  an  able-bodied 
man  sneezing  like  a Russian  anarchist 
making  a stump  speech  moves  me  to 
inhuman  merriment.  But  at  present  I 
do  not  feel  thus.  I am  overflowing 
with  tears  of  sympathy  for  the  stricken 
ones,  for  I have  it  myself. 

How  many  people  go  down  to  watery 


graves  every  year  from  colds  in  the  head 
I cannot  say  offhand,  and  I am  too  busy 
with  a private  project  to  stop  and 
figure  up.  But  when  I recover  (if  I 
do  not  sink,  with  all  on  board),  I am  go- 
ing to  put  the  office-boy  at  work  with 
the  adding  machine  and  have  him  make 
me  a lot  of  statistics.  This  is  the  only 
subject  in  the  world  which  has  not  been 
statisticked,  which  is  another  proof  of 
scientific  neglect  by  the  investigators. 

While  science  has  been 
very  negligent  in  dealing 
with  this  matter,  the  lay 
population  has  devoted  a 
good  deal  of  time  to  it — 
so  much  so  that  there  are 
something  like  thirty  mil- 
lion prescriptions  for  it  in  existence. 
Doubtless  there  are  many  more  than  this, 
but  these  are  all  that  have  been  told  to 
me  personally  since  I acquired  my  pres- 
ent cold.  People  are  selfish  about  a good 
many  things  in  this  material  age,  but  I 
have  never  yet  met  a man  or  a woman 
who  kept  a pre- 
scription for  a 
cold  in  the  head 
locked  away  in 
greedy  e x c 1 1 - 
siveness.  Many 
a man  will  get 
up  out  of  bed  on 
a cold  night  and 
walk  five  miles 
to  tell  you  how 
to  cure  a cold 
in  the  head,  and 
some  women  will 
wait  patiently 
all  winter  long 
for  you  to  catch 
one  so  they  can 
try  out  a new 
recipe  on  you. 


There  is  an  etiquette  about  this  busi- 
ness that  should  not  be  ignored.  When- 
ever a man  thrusts  his  prescription  upon 
you,  ask  him  to  kindly  write  it  down. 
Then  go  home  and  drink  your  whiskey 
as  you  had  originally  planned.  If  you 
are  a man  to  hold  a grudge,  lay  for  him, 
and,  when  his  turn  comes,  insist  upon 
prescribing  his  own  prescription  for 
him. 

I am  a very  tolerant  man  in  ordinary 
things.  I concede  to  every  man  the 
right  to  worship  his  favorite  baseball 
team  according  to  the  dictates  of  his 
own  conscience,  I am  willing  to  admit 
that  there  may  be  other  children  in  the 
block  as  remarkable  as  my  own,  and  I 
will  not  deny  that  some  thermometers 
may  be  more  accurate  than  mine,  though 
I doubt  it;  but,  hereafter,  I will  stand 
on  my  rights  as  an  American  citizen  and 
use  my  own  remedy  when  I get  a cold 
in  the  head. 

This  conclusion  is  forced  upon  me  as 
a matter  of  self-preservation.  As  a re- 
sult of  trying  to  follow  the  instructions 
of  all  my  sympathizing  friends  and 
kindred  in  dealing  with  my  present  cold, 
I am  full  not  only  of  doubts  as  to  all 
remedies,  but  also  of  onions,  quinine, 
hot  lemonade,  wood  ashes,  Jamaica  gin- 
ger, bird  seed,  rock  candy,  potato  water, 
coal  oil,  vaseline,  calomel,  plaster  of 
Paris,  goose  grease,  olive  oil,  prune 
juice,  catnip  tea,  powdered  alum,  pink 


pills,  red  eye,  tar,  pitch,  and  turpentine. 

I cannot  smell  the  red  flannel  pack  of 
fat  pork  around  my  neck  nor  the  coating 
of  skunk  oil  on  my  nose,  but  I know 
that  they  are  there.  And  perhaps  I 
ought  not  to  complain  of  the  ice  com- 
press on  my  bosom,  for  it  helps  to  strike 
an  average  with  the  hot-water  bag  at 
my  feet 

I was  told  that  these  things  were  good 
for  a cold  in  the  head,  and  I think  they 
are;  the  cold  is  thriving  nicely.  But 
the  next  time  I have  a cold  in  the  head 
I shall  gently  but  firmly  decline  all 
prescriptions.  I shall  simply  don  my 
life  preserver  and  go  to  bed. 

Well  Done. 

Brown — “What  did  the  doctor  say 
when  your  son  died  of  typhoid?” 

Green — “He  looked  at  the  ditch  along- 
side the  well  and  murmured,  ‘Sewer- 
side.’  ” 

Easily  Seen  Through. 

May — “I  wonder  why  Maude  doesn’t 
wear  her  new  silk  stockings?” 

Fay — “Maybe  she  is  saving  up  for  a 
rainy  day.” 

Breakfast-food  Literature. 

Browne — “There’s  lots  of  food  for 
thought  in  this  magazine  story.” 

Greene — “Full  of  meat,  eh?” 

Browne — “No.  It’s  a ser'al.” 


The  Detective  of  Modern  Fiction. 

By  CAROLYN  WELLS. 

MY  FACE  is  long  and  lean  and  chalk- 
like; 

My  eyes  show  true  deductive  guile. 

I have  a nose  that’s  thin  and  hawklike, 
And  mystic,  Mona  Lisa  smile. 

Though  evidence  be  false  or  truthful, 
Though  clews  be  simple  or  abstruse, 
My  nature  is  so  very  sleuthful, 

Amazing  secrets  I deduce ! 

Obscurest  clews  are  plain  to  me 
As  simple  English  ABC. 

To  my  predetermined  theory 
All  discovered  facts  I fit; 

Then,  in  accents  bored  and  weary, 
Languidly  I say,  “You’re  it!” 

For  I read  men  and  women  all — 

My  power  is  subliminal. 

Whoever  may  commit  the  crime, 

I commit  the  criminal ! 

Of  course  I’m  clever  at  deductions — 
I’m  such  a shrewd  and  subtle  sleuth! 
Although  it  causes  awful  ructions 
Because  I hit  upon  the  truth. 

It  makes  the  average  woman  wake  up 
And  fly  into  an  awful  rage, 

When,  from  her  dress  and  weight  and 
make-up. 

Correctly  I deduce  her  age ! 

Or,  if  she’s  fair  and  sweet  and 
young. 

Of  nature  rare  and  highly  strung, 

I look  to  find  a love  note  in  her 
Jewel  casket  safely  hid; 

Then  I deduce  that  handsome  sinner. 
Politely  called  the  “Tertium  Quid.” 
Oh,  I’m  a deuce  of  a deducer! 

I know  it  all!  And  I tell  you,  sir, 
Whoever  may  commit  the  crime, 

I put  the  criminal  in  the  noose,  sir! 


J o h n n 


/^\H,  SEE  the  sad  little  fel-low  with 
the  plug  hat!  Is  he  the  under- 
taker on  his  way  to  a 
fu-ner-al?  No;  he  is 
a law-yer  on  his  way 
to  de-fend  a crim-i-nal. 

What  has  the  crim-i- 
nal  done? 

The  crim-i-nal  has 
broken  the  law,  and 
the  law-yer  has  broken  the  crim-i-nal. 

But  why  doesn’t  the  poor  fel-low  get 
a doctor,  then? 

Because  the  law-yer  is  the  only  fel- 
low who  is  al-lowed  to  doctor  the  law. 

Is  he  a Doctor  of 
Laws? 

Oh,  no ! but  he  doc- 
tors the  laws  just  as 
if  he  were  a reg-u-lar 
prac-tition-er.  H i s 
business  is  to  de-fend 
the  ac-cused. 


L 


e s s o n 


ie’s  Primer 

Topic,  Doctors. 

How  does  the  law-yer  man-age  to  de- 
fend him,  if  he  is  guilt-y? 

By  get-ting  his  fee  first. 

Then,  what  does  he  do  with  the  crim- 
i-nal? 

Oh,  tells  him  to  plead  guilt-y,  so  a i to 
save  the  State  the  expense  of  a tri-al. 

Then  what  does  the  law-yer  do  for  the 
crim-i-nal? 


He  makes  a clos-ing  ad-dress  to  the 
jurymen. 

What  are  the  jury-men? 

The  jury-men  are  a group  of  men,  sit- 
ting on  bench-es,  chew-ing  to-bac-co. 

How  funny ! Do  they  have  to  pay  for 
sit-ting  on  the  bleach-ers? 

Oh,  no,  indeed!  They  each  receive 


two  dol-lars  a day  for  listen-ing  to  the 
speech  of  the  law-yer. 

After  he  is  through 
talk-ing,  what  does 
the  law-yer  do? 

He  goes  over  to  the 
Uni-vers-i-ty  Club  for 
lunch  with  the  judge. 

Who  is  the  judge? 

The  judge  is  the 
man  that  ad-min-i-sters  the  anes-thetic, 
while  the  law-yer  doctors  the  brok-en 
law. 

OH  ! But  where  do  the  jurymen  go? 

Tney  go  to  a German  res-tau-rant,  as 
soon  as  they  get  their 
money. 

How  queer ! But 
what  be-comes  of  the 
poor  crim-i-nal? 

Oh,  he  goes  to  the 
pen  - i - ten  - ti  - ary  to 
study  ge-ol-ogy. 

— Harrold  Skinner. 


E 


N V Y 


By  DONALD  A KAHN. 


<<  1V/IR.  SQUIRES?” 

The  farmer  admitted  his  iden- 
tity. 

‘‘Mr.  Squires,”  began  the  salesman 
impressively,  ‘‘Mr.  Squires,  Boggs  is 
my  name — J.  Benjamin  Boggs.  I rep- 
resent the  Anyold  Aeroplane  Manufac- 
turing Company.” 

Mr.  Squires  arose  from  his  seat  pro- 
testingly.  ‘‘You  haven’t  got  anything 
against  me,”  said  he.  ‘‘I  ain’t  shot  up 
no  skyrockets,  an’  I ain’t  permitted  my 
boys  to  fly  no  kites.  I ain’t  trespassed 
on  your  property.  You  own  the  air, 


firmy  is  good  enough  for 
Mandy  and  me  for  a while 
yet,  I reckon.  No,  young 
man,  ’tain’t  no  use.  I’d 
be  skeered  to  venture  up 
in  one  of  them  things.” 
‘‘You  don’t  get  me,” 
objected  the  salesman. 
‘‘You  buy  this  machine  for 
six  hundred  dollars.  We 
throw  in  an  air  license 
from  the  Air  Corporation 
You  purchase  the  machine 
and  the  local  newspaper 


NOT  GOOD  FOR  WHAT  AILED  HIM. 
Friend — “ What ’s  the  matter,  old  man,  don't 
you  feel  right  ?” 

Chronic  dyspeptic — ‘‘No;  I just  ate  a meal 
that  agreed  with  me  " 


h?T> 


THE  ONLY  WAY 

“ I want  a piece  of  meat  without  any  bone,  fat,  or  gristle.” 
“ Ye 'd  better  buy  an  egg,  mum.” 


but  I’m  sure  I gotta  right  to 
breathe  if” 

‘‘No,  no,  Mr.  Squires!”  Boggs 
assured  the  farmer  soothingly. 
‘‘You’re  mistaking  me  for  the  Air 
Corporation,  Unlimited.  I am 
here  as  the  sales  representative 
of  the  Anyold  Aeroplane  Company. 
I have  come  to  interest  you  in  our 
Model  T airship — the  machine 
that’s  equipped  with  the  famous 
Olio  engine — the  kind  with  the 
sleeve  valve — no  timing  gears, 
cams,  or  valve  stems  to  bother 
with.  Open  the  throttle  and  away 
she  flies.  Now,  this  aeroplane 
does  away  with” 

‘‘Hold  on!”  interrupted  Mr. 
Squires.  ‘‘I  don’t  want  to  buy  no 
aeroplane.  My  old  limmyzine  is 
in  good  condition  yet,  and  terry 


OBVIOUS. 

Husband  (who  has  been  reading  about  a scandal 
— ‘‘  Well,  Maria,  we  may  be  poor,  but  at  least 
skeletons  in  our  family.” 


in  high  life) 
there  are  no 


gives  you  at  least  a column  of  free 
publicity.  You’re  the  first  owner  of  an 
aeroplane  in  Praps  County.  You  have 
a picture  taken  of  self  and  family  about 
to  start  on  a mile-high  journey — great 
souvenir  for  the  parlor  album  and  to 
send  nephew  in  the  city!  Show  him 
you’re  up  to  date,  even  though  you  do 
live  on  a rural  route.  Of  course  you 
don’t  fly  in  the  machine — it  wasn’t  built 
for  that  purpose.” 

Mr.  Squires  objected.  ‘‘I  can’t  pay 
six  hundred  dollars  jest  for  a orna- 
ment, ” said  he. 

‘‘Ah!”  The  salesman  beamed. 
‘‘That’s  the  beauty  of  our  machine. 
It  was  built,  not  for  use,  but  for 
utility.  Look!” 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  a blue 
print  of  his  product. 

‘‘Here  you’ve  got  detachable 
canvas  wings.  Use  ’em  to  cover 
the  hayrack  in  rainy  weather,  or 
they  make  good  stable  blankets. 
Here  you’ve  got  the  steering 
wheel.  ' It  will  make  over  into  a 
first-class  wheelbarrow.  Here 
you’ve  got  the  patent  detachable 
seat.  A little  tinkering  with  a 
hatchet  and  saw  will  convert  this 
into  a comfortable  porch  swing. 
This  Olio  motor  runs  the  feed 
chopper,  grist  mill,  churn,  meat 


'I 


chopper,  vacuum  cleaner,  and  coffee 
grinder.” 

‘‘But  how  about  that  whirligig  at  the 
back?  That  ain’t  good  for  nothin’,” 
objected  Mr.  Squires. 

“That,”  explained  Boggs,  ‘‘that, 
hitched  onto  the  same  motor  that  runs 
the  farm  machinery,  acts  as  an  electric 
fan  in  summer  and  makes  an  efficient 
device  with  which  to  automatically  shoo 
flies  away  from  the  din- 
ner table.” 

Mr.  Squires  scratched 
his  head.  ‘‘Wa-al,  put 
me  down  fer  two  of  ’em, 
if  you  want  to,”  he  de- 
cided finally.  “ Say 
what  you  will,  the  mod- 
ern airship  is  sure  a 
great  invention.” 

As  of  Old. 

They  put  Noah  up  for 
the  Mariners’  Club; 

But,  in  face  of  his 
well-known  trip. 

He  was  blackballed 
unanimously,  they 
say, 

Because  he  had 
grounded  his  ship  ! 

Justified. 

‘‘The  hour  of  twelve 
has  struck!”  hissed  the 
ghost. 

‘‘I  don’t  blame  it,” 
replied  the  materialist. 

‘‘It  was  worked  to  death 
long  ago.  ” 

A Slur. 

‘‘See,  I am  familiar 
with  your  music,”  re- 
marked the  amateur  at 
the  musicale  the  other  evening. 

‘‘It  seems  so,”  replied  the  popular 
composer.  ‘‘You  are  taking  liberties 
with  it.” 

Preachers. 

NOTICE,”  said  Shagbark  Jones, 
‘‘that  when  a church  goes  into  the 
show  business,  it  drops  into  the  ten- 
twent-thirt  class  right  away,  so  far  as 
the  show  is  concerned.  They  wasn’t 
built  for  that.  Not  that  I want  back 
the  old  gloom-and-grief  kind  of  preach- 
in’. No,  sir!  A mournful  preacher 
ought  to  be  sent  missionary  to  the  un- 
tamed cannibals,  with  a knife  and  fork 
tied  round  his  neck,  and  a pure-food 
label  pasted  right  under  his  necktie. 

‘‘I  don’t  blame  the  preachers  for 


tryin’  to  get  full  churches.  A desert 
island  ain’t  interestin’  to  nobody  until 
there’s  some  people  on  it;  but  it  sort  of 
seems  to  me  that,  as  soon  as  they  began 
puttin’  pews  in  churches  and  puttin’ 
numbers  on  the  ends  of  the  pews,  the 
good  clothes  begun  crowdin’  out  the  poor 
ones.  There’s  never  been  a theater  suc- 
ceeded yet  unless  it  had  a gallery  where 
you  an’  me  could  sit  and  feel  at  home. 


‘‘One  trouble  is  the  preachers  is  ever- 
lastin’  whalin’  their  congregations. 
I’ve  got  a mighty  clear  notion  myself 
that  I’m  a miserable  sinner,  but  it 
braces  me  up  once  in  a while  to  have 
somebody  tell  me  I’ve  got  a couple  of 
good  points  left.  A feller  don’t  want 
to  be  whaled  all  the  time.  I knew  a boy 
once  that  whalin’  cured,  but  he  was 
about  the  only  one.  His  teacher  whaled 
him  for  bein’  late  at  school,  and  it  cured 
him  from  bein’  late.  He  was  never 
late  at  school  ag’in.  He  stopped  goin’.  ” 

~ Ellis  Parker  Butler. 

Baker — ‘‘Any  new  ideas  at  the  Bul- 
lions’ motor  dinner?” 

Barker — ‘‘Yes;  in  the  middle  of  the 
table  a fountain  of  gasoline  was  play- 
ing.” 


Those  Thin  Skirts. 

The  wintry  winds  are  keen,  I wot, 

As  across  the  streets  the  women  go. 
Warm  coats  above — but,  oh,  great  Scott! 
It  must  be  awful  cold  below! 

A Careful  Young  Man. 

‘‘You  want  to  marry  my  daughter?” 
‘‘I'm  not  certain,  but  I’d  like  an  op- 
tion on  her  hand,  sir.” 

Differences. 
Progress  is  the  dif- 
ference between  pres- 
ent-day monarchs  and 
the  people  they  claim. 

Cold  steal  is  the  dif- 
ference between  your 
scales  and  those  of  some 
icemen. 

Soul — brief  or  other- 
wise— is  the  difference 
between  wit  and  vul- 
garity. 

Failure  is  the  differ- 
ence between  one  and 
one’s  egotism. 

— Charles  C.  Jones. 

T.  R.'s  Favorite  Song. 

KathleenManeuvering, 
It  may  be  four  years, 
It  may  be  for  ever. 

Shooting  Affray. 
This  is  how  a Ken- 
tucky editor,  who  is  too 
busy  to  be  a funny  man, 
fixes  up  a local  item  : 
‘‘Tom  Stewart  and 
Charlie  Liddan  engaged 
in  a shooting  affray  at 
short  range  with  Win- 
chesters on  Monday  af- 
ternoon,near  town.  They 
fired  four  shots,  Charlie  killing  the  dog 
on  the  fourth.  They  had  it  tied  to  a 
fence  post.  The  dog  belonged  to  John 
Garner  and  looked  mad  before  it  was 
killed.  ” 

Her  Furs  and  Feathers. 

Phil  writes  a check  for  Phyllis’s  furs' — 
From  Philip  bursts  a sigh: 

‘‘Peace  to  your  ashes,  little  brute! 

You  were  not  skinned  as  I!” 

Phil  writes  a check  for  Phyllis’s 
plumes — 

From  Philip  breaks  a cry: 

‘‘Strut  on,  old  bird  ! Hold  up  your  head  ! 
You  were  not  plucked,  but  I!” 

Variation  of  an  Old  Maxim. 
Eternal  partisanship  is  the  price  of 
political  patronage — The  Office-seeker. 


NOT  TO  BE  INTERRUPTED. 

11  No,  Ethel,  I won't  be  able  to  go  calling  with  you  this  week.  I 'rn  frightfully  busy.” 


Fables  in  English 

AMBROSE  BIERCE 

WITH  PICTURES  & CEORCE  LCABbSON 


S3  ^Threatening  Weather- E3 

A T AN  out-of-door  meeting  a dema- 
gogue  was  making  a passionate 
plea  for  monkey  suffrage,  when  an 
angel  looked  down  from  heaven  and 
wept  upon  him.  He  lifted  his  eyes  to 
the  sky  for  a moment,  then,  observing 
the  husband  of  his  laundress  occupying 


a seat  on  the  platform,  said  to  him  in  an 
earnest  whisper, 

“Run  home  and  tell  your  wife  to  take 
in  all  her  washing  from  the  drying  line 
— I am  about  to  advocate  the  initiative, 
the  referendum,  and  the  recall.” 


E3  A Weak  Attachment  S3 

A POLITICAL  boss,  who,  having 
1 “■  been  eschewed  by  his  party,  was 
appointed  to  the  highest  office  in  the 
gift  of  its  real  leader,  met  a dog’s  tail, 
which  was  in  an  attitude  of  dejection 
between  the  animal’s  hinder  legs. 

“My  unhappy  friend,”  said  the  de- 


posed boss,  “what  is  the  matter  with 
you,  and  where  does  it  hurt?” 


“This  ungrateful  dog,”  answered  the 
tail,  “has  thrown  me  off — that  is  where 
it  hurts.” 

“But,”  said  the  other,  “you  are  not 
off;  you  are  on.” 

“Only  stuck  on,”  the  tail  explained, 
cautiously  attempting  a deprecatory 
wag.  “The  beast’s  master  did  that.” 

Ever  thereafter,  when  the  dethroned 
statesman  listened  for  the  voice  of  hope, 
he  heard  only  that  of  despair,  reminding 
him  that  he  was  only  stuck  on. 


S The  New  Method  S3 

A CITIZEN  whose  property  had  been 
taken  by  political  thieves  was  be- 
wailing his  untoward  fate. 

“You  meet  and  greet  them  socially, 
do  you  not?”  inquired  the  observant 
neighbor. 

“Their  crime  is  the  greater  for  that,” 
was  the  reply. 

“Possibly,”  said  the  observant  one; 
“but  it  is  also  the  easier.  Henceforth, 


whenever  you  take  the  hand  of  a thief, 
a decent  regard  for  the  interest  of  your 
pockets  requires  that  you  keep  it.” 
Always  afterward,  when  the  citizen 
took  the  hand  of  a thief,  he  was  so  re- 
luctant to  let  go  that  all  thieves  thought 
he  loved  them,  and,  by  way  of  adding 
the  charm  of  ingratitude  to  the  advan- 
tages of  thrift,  they  plundered  him  with 
a special  and  particular  assiduity. 


TheKin§^TheGeniusi3 


A GENIUS  who  had  built  an  airship 
was  asked  by  the  king  why  he  did 
not  send  it  up. 

“Alas!”  replied  the  genius,  sighing; 
“having  lived  a blameless  life,  I have 
no  enemies  to  man  it.  Perhaps  your 
Majesty  will  supply  a captain  and  crew 


from  among  your  own  enemies.” 

“No,”  said  the  king.  “I,  too,  am 
destitute  of  enemies.” 

“I  beg  your  Majesty  to  forgive  me,” 
the  genius  said.  “I  spoke  without  re- 
flection. You  also  have  lived  a blame- 
less life.” 

“Well,  no,”  said  the  sovereign, 
thoughtfully  scratching  the  royal  head 
where  it  did  not  itch;  “that  is  not  just 
the  way  of  it.  The  fact  is,  all  my 
enemies  have  died  a blameless  death.” 


Threes  fm&it! 


'T’HE  GREATEST  man  in  a congres- 
1 sional  district  met  a pig  and  had 
the  condescension  to  say,  “Good-morn- 
ing, my  humble  friend!” 

“Sir,”  said  the  pig  austerely,  “I  am 
the  greatest  hog  in  all  this  region!” 

As  the  two  passed  on,  an  adjacent 
philosopher  was  heard  to  murmur,  “One 
small  pair.” 

Nature,  who  had  just  completed  a 
politician,  an  ass,  and  a dog,  said,  “Not 
good.  ” 


SIR  LAUflcEI.OT  RESCUES  THE  MAIDEN  FROM  DONJON  KEEP. 

Johnnie’s  Primer  Lesson. 


By  HARROLD  SKINNER 


Topic- — Guests. 

Q— 4— B. 

Oh,  see  the  cab ! Go,  go ! cab,  go. 
Will  the  cab  go  by!  " 


RECIPROCAL. 

Grandma — “ Why,  Frederick,  I 'm  sur- 
prised ! " i 

Frederick — “ It 's  mutual,  grandma  It 's 
mutual.” 


No,  the  cab  will  not  go  by.  The  cab 
will  stop  at  our  door,  and  then  it  will 
go  by. 

LOOK!  LOOK!  What  is  that  fun-ny 
old  thing  in  the  cab?  13  it  a wom-an 
going  to  the  train? 

NO-OO-OO!  It  is  a wom-an  coming 
from  the  train.  The  woman  is  a guest. 
She  lives  in  the  country,  some-times. 

What  is  the  gue3t  doing  in  the  cab, 
then? 

Rub-ber-ing ! 

What  is  she  rub-ber-ing  for? 

She  is  rub-ber-ing  for  our  number. 
She  must  have  found  it  in  the  tele-phone 
book. 

SEE!  SEE!  She  is  twist-ing  her 
lit-tle  throat ! 

That  is  not  a lit-tle  throat.  It  is  a 
lit-tle  neck  and  long. 

JIO.W  QUEER!  Is  she  a Lit-tle 

Neck  oyst-er? 

NO-OO-OO!  She  is  a rub-ber  neck 


lob-ster!  Ho,  ho!  She  is  stretch-ing 
her  neck  like  a crane! 

Will  she  break  her  neck? 

Oh,  no,  in-deed!  It  is' made  of  rub- 
ber. 

But  she  isn’t  rub-bing  any-thing,  is 
she? 

Not  yet.  She  is  wait-ing  to  rub  it 
into  me. 

Is  she  com-ing  to  stay  for  three  or 
four  days? 

NO-OO-OO-OO!  The  guest  is  coming 
to  stay  for  three  or  four  months. 

Why  does  she  do  it? 

GOODNESS  KNOWS! 


SHE  IS 

‘ Is  the  lady  of  the  house  at  home  ?” 

Mistaken  Identity. 

Some  folks  are  everlastingly  being 
mistaken  for  others.  Governor  Carey, 
of  Wyoming,  discovered,  on  a recent 
visit  to  a city  of  considerable  size  in 
New  York  State,  that  he  was  a dead 
ringer  for  the  mayor. 

‘‘The  fact  was  further  impressed  upon 
my  mind  one  nierht  on  the  street,”  Gov- 
ernor Carey  goes  on,  ‘‘when,  just  out- 
side of  my  hotel,  I was  hailed  by  a large 
policeman,  who  said,  ‘Mr.  Mayor,  may 
I help  you  home  to-night?’  I replied 
that  I was  feeling  very  well,  indeed; 
and  as  the  policeman  turned  away  I 
overheard  him  remark  to  another  patrol- 
man, ‘The  mayor  is  certainly  behaving 
himself  better  lately  than  he  used  to 
do.’  ” 


A CHAMELEON. 

“ When  I don’t  go  out  in 
comp’ny  I 'm  so  blue, 
a.id  when  I do,  I get  so 
red,  ’cause  I'm  so 
green.” 


NPii  WiTTers 


THE  RED  ABOVE 
THE  GREEN. 

“ Madam,  this  red  hat 
reduces  your  years  by 
about  ten.” 

“ Yes  ; and  I suppose 
you  'll  add  the  amount  on 
to  the  bill.” 


Bye-bye. 


ALWAYS  THE  SAME  CRY. 


Buy-buy. 


Suffrage  Snapshots 

By  IDA  HEUSTED  HARPER 


VV/ATCH  New  Jersey  wake  up!  The 
Legislature  gives  a hearing  on  a 
bill  for  woman  suffrage!  When,  in  1897, 
over  75,000  men  in  that  enlightened  and 
progressive  State  voted  against  giving 
women  in  the  villages  and  rural  districts 
the  privilege  of  voting  for  school  trus- 
tees, the  suffragists  -went  away  back 
and  sat  down.  It  never  seemed  worth 
while  to  get  up  until  the  movement  in 
New  York  and  Pennsylvania  applied  the 
galvanic  battery  to  New  Jersey.  Now 
they  are  up  to  stay. 

It’s  just  one — blessed — thing  after  an- 
other in  the  Wisconsin  suffrage  cam- 
paign. No  sooner  had  the  brewers 
agreed  that  they  would  not  make  any 
organized  fight  on  the  pending  amend- 
ment than  the  New  York  Anti-Suffrage 
Association  announced  that  they  would 
send  their  strongest  speaker  up  there  to 
defeat  it.  But  cheer  up!  It  is  to  be 
the  same  woman  they  sent  out  last  fall 
to  defeat  the  amendment  in  California! 

Senator  Hinman  ought  to  have  known, 
when,  as  chairman,  he  voted  against  the 
woman-suffrage  bill  in  the  judiciary 
committee  at  Albany,  that  he  invited 
disaster.  Sure  enough,  when  he  stood 
on  the  platform  waiting  for  his  train, 
he  was  hit  by  a baggage  truck. 

A 

Woman  suffrage  has  struck  Chicago’s 
Four  Hundred.  First  it  was  a ballroom 
meeting  at  Mrs.  Hobart  Chatfield-Tay- 
lor’s,  and  then  another  at  Mrs.  Cyrus 
McCormick’s,  with  preliminary  dinner 
parties  and  midnight  suppers,  just  as  if 
it  were  grand  opera.  This  is  a great 
deal  better  than  looking  upon  it  as  opera 
bouffe,  and  this  has  always  been  the 
trouble  with  the  suffrage  movement — 
the  public  took  it  as  a joke.  It  has 
been  this  fact,  more  than  all  others  com- 
bined, that  has  kept  the  masses  of 
women  out  of  it.  Here,  then,  is  the 
mission  of  “society” — to  make  it  so 
popular  the  women  will  fall  over  each 
other  to  get  in.  Then  “society”  can 
turn  to  a new  fad,  and  the  leaders  of 
the  movement,  with  an  army  around 
them,  will  do  the  rest.  Society  men  do 
not  count  at  all  in  this  phase  of  the 


question.  When  it  goes  to  the  polls  for 
final  settlement,  it  is  the  men  at  the 
other  end  of  the  line  who  will  win  the 
victory  for  women. 

The  six  States  where  women  will  vote 
this  year  will  have  thirty-seven  votes  in 
the  electoral  college.  Six  Presidents, 
including  Cleveland,  were  elected  by 
this  number  of  votes  or  less,  so  it  be- 


hooves about  two  Republican  and  four 
or  five  Democratic  candidates  to  find  out 
where  they  really  do  stand  on  the  ques- 
tion of  woman  suffrage,  because  they’ll 
have  to  stand  somewhere,  and  that 
pretty  soon. 

There  doesn’t  seem  to  be  any  particu- 
lar reason  why  four  or  five  women  should 
have  been  guests  of  honor  at  the  annual 
banquet  of  the  Police  Lieutenants’  Be- 
nevolent Association,  but  they  just  sat 
up  there  and  sang,  “We’re  here  because 


we’re  here.”  And  that  isn’t  the  worst 
of  it — they’re  going  to  be  everywhere 
else,  and  the  men  who  don’t  like  it  will 
have  to  go  to  the  edge  of  the  earth  and 
jump  off. 

The  actors  and  the  commercial  trav- 
elers are  demanding  that  some  provision 
be  made  for  them  to  cast  their  votes 
when  they  have  to  be  away  from  home 
on  election  day.  Haven’t  they  read 
Colonel  Roosevelt’s  recent  article  in  the 
Outlook,  in  which  he  says  the  suffrage 
isn’t  anything  like  as  important  as  peo- 
ple think  it  is?  Of  course  he  was  talk- 
ing about  suffrage  for  women ; but  what 
is  sauce  for  the  goose — only  women  are 
not  such  geese  in  this  particular  case  as 
they  used  to  be. 

a 

The  wife  of  Congressman  Taylor,  of 
Colorado,  says  the  women  of  that  State 
have  found  that  it  does  not  take  as  long 
to  vote  as  it  does  to  match  a piece  of 
silk.  It  is  to  be  hoped  not,  or  the  worst 
fears  of  the  “antis”  as  to  the  neglect  of 
the  home  and  family  would  be  more  than 
realized. 

To  the  Anti-Suffragist. 

You  say  you  do  not  want  it  forced  upon 
you— 

That  suffrage  is  a bother  and  a bore; 
You  say  you  have  enough  to  worry  over. 
Without  adding  extra  burdens  to  your 
score. 

Well,  it  doesn’t  matter  much  that  yon 
don’t  want  it; 

You’re  going  to  get  it,  just  as  sure  as 
fate ! 

So  why  not  help  to  get  it— get  the  power 
To  vote  it  off  again,  before  too  late? 

Can’t  you  see  the  flaw  in  your  position? 

Can’t  you  see  the  glaring  paradox? 
You  wouldn’t  have  things  rudely  thrust 
upon  you, 

If  only  you  could  use  the  ballot  box! 

— Elizabeth  Manager. 


THE  “TEN  REASONS”  CONTEST 

His  Honor's  offer  of  a prize  of  $10  for  the  ten 
best  reasons,  why  women  should  vote,  brought 
1,500  replies.  These  are  being  judged  by 
members  of  the  suffrage  parly  well  qualified 
for  the  task,  and  the  result  will  be  announced 
in  the  next  issue. 


EVENING  INFEKNAL  MAGAZINE 


ThatBunchNextDoor.(No.61241)  * ♦ * By  Zip 


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Syndicated  Philosophy 


There’s  many  a dip 
’twixt  the  slip  and  the  ship. 


By  John  Mulligan 

T ACED  makes  waist. 

A rolling  stone  is 
a total  loss. 


A bird  in  hand  sometimes  pecks  you 
with  his  little  bill. 


A beer-full  waist  is  what  the  joyful 
want. 


A nickel  saved  is  a schooner  spurned. 

Never  take  off  till  to-morrow  what 
you’re  wearing  on  a warm  spring  day. 

Where  Reno  brings  us  bliss,  ’tis  folly 
to  have  wives. 

The  crazy  fan  gives  the  most  pains. 

You  never  drink  the  water  till  the 
growler  runs  dry. 


Our  Daily  Gemlet 

By  Casper  W.  Kist 

There’s  Company  Coming 


There  are  visitors  coming 
to  the  house  to  see  us ; 

The  sign  of  the  cat,  knife,  and  fork, 
which  is  a true  saying. 

There  are  company  coming  to  visit, 

For  the  cat  is  washing  her  face 
with  her  little  velvety  paw; 

She  is  cleaning  herself  with  her  little 
tongue ; 

She  is  sitting  at  the  door 

waiting  for  the  company  to  come. 

A man  is  coming  at  the  door. 

For  the  cook  has  dropped  a knife  on 
the  floor. 

A woman  will  pay  a visit  as  soon  as  she 
can, 

For  a fork  fell  out  of  father’s  hand. 

There  is  going  to  be  company 
coming  this  way, 

For  auntie  had  her  fortune  told; 

She  said : That  the  cards  says, 

There’s  company  on  the  way. 


The  Most  Wonderful  Story  AmOIlg  US  GlflS 


I 


I 


I 


That  Will  Ever  Be  Written 

The  Mystery  of  Miss  Terry 

By  Julius  Dingding 

To-day’s  Paragraph 
Chapter  S66  (continued.) 

And  then  Reginald  gazed  into  Octa- 
via’s  liquid  eyes  and  watched  her  mop 
her  fevered  brow,  pulsating  with  the 
secret  she  dare  not  tell.  Words  would 
not  come,  although  he  had  ordered  them 
C.  0.  D.  How  long  he  stood  there  un- 
conscious he  never  knew,  but  when  he 
came  to  he  murmured,  “Octavia,  I 
knew  your  brother.  He  has  told  me — 
told  me  that" 

(Continued  in  to-morrow’s  Infernal.) 


| Daily  Fashion  Hints 
for  Women 

By  the  Sporting  Editor 


Clocks  are  being  worn  on  silk  stock-  j 
ings.  They  strike  one  whenever  they 
are  seen,  and  may  be  bought  on  tick  at 
all  stores  that  advertise  with  us. 

The  latest  thing  in  millinery  is  the  I 
rush-hour  collapsible  hat.  When  spread 
out,  it  measures  a yard  from  tip  to  tip; 
but  in  crowded  street  cars  it  may  be 
closed  like  an  umbrella,  falling  over  the 
face  like  a veil.  A strip  of  isinglass  is 
inserted  in  the  portion  covering  the 
eyes. 

Checks  are  occasionally  seen  this 
spring,  and  are  growing  larger  as  Easter 
approaches.  If  you  find  that  your  checks 
are  no  good,  stripes  may  be  substituted. 

Chatelaines  are  coming  in  again.  A 
fully  equipped  kit  contains  a manicure 
set,  cheval  mirror,  a quart  can  of  pow- 
der, pair  of  opera  glasses,  alarm  clock,  ' 


By  Clarabd  Bluffem 


Girlies,  I received  a 
thousand  letters  from 
you  this  morning.  How 
I wish  I might  answer 
them  all  to-day!  But  that  would  be 
difficult  in  the  small  space  allowed  me, 
would  it  not?  So  I have  opened  a few 
at  random.  Here  is  the  first: 


Dear  Miss  Bluffem — Can  you  tell  me 
a good  recipe  for  preserving  peaches? 
Alice  Newlywed.  I would  suggest  a 
good  facial  cream,  a skillful  dressmaker 
and  hairdresser,  and  a long  walk  every 
day. 

Dear  Miss  Bluffem — In  entering  a 
theater,  should  a man  follow  a lady? 
Carrie  Bean.  It  depends  on  who  the 
man  is.  If  he  is  a licensed  detective, 
he  has  a right  to.  If  he  is  a bill  col- 
lector, it  would  be  much  better  for  nim 
to  wait  until  the  next  day.  If  he  is 
simply  a flirt,  he  should  be  checked  at 
the  door. 

Dear  Miss  Bluffem — Should  a man 
propose  to  a girl  on  his  knees?  Archie 
Bald.  If  you  have  proceeded  so  far 
that  the  girl  sits  upon  your  knees,  it 
would  be  a serious  breach  of  etiquette  if 
you  did  not  propose  to  her. 

Dear  Miss  Bluffem — How  can  I make 
my  biscuits  light?  Clara  Bell.  I would 
suggest  that  you  open  the  window  and 
carefully  drop  them  out,  being  sure  that 
they  do  not  light  upon  the  heads  of  any 
of  the  passers-by,  as  this  would  be  as- 
sault with  a deadly  weapon — a very  seri- 
ous offense. 


telephone  directory,  and  a gum  case.  It 
may  be  carried  in  the  hand  or  by  a mes- 
senger boy.  There  is  little  danger  of 
losing  it,  unless  it  is  dropped  from  a 
ferryboat  or  into  a coal  hole. 

Narrow  skirts  are  being  sold  in  pairs. 
They  may  be  worn  one  at  a time  in 
polite  society,  but  for  athletic  purposes 
one  may  be  placed  on  each  limb. 


3 

M.R.H. 


;-G*A wT  'Y  'h A W-' 


T.  R 


THE.  HAT  HE 


SHIED  INTO 


THE 


RING 


Egged  on  at  Easter;  or  the  Caprice  of  a Cruel  Coquette. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  STRANGER’S  SECRET. 

“LJIST !” 

* * These  words  fell  from  the  lips 
of  a tall,  distinguished-looking  man, 
rather  commonplace  in  appearance  and 
not  over  the  average  height,  who  glanced 
around  the  crowded  aisles  of  Higgle  & 
Sniggle’s  mammoth  emporium,  during  a 
marked-down  sale  of  colored  chalks  and 
a special  drive  in  harness  to  mark  the 
joyous  Easter. 

What  could  it  mean? 

Perhaps  Edgar  Eastlake,  the  elevator 
boy,  knew.  But,  if  so,  he  said  nothing, 
except  to  glance  suspiciously  at  the 
stranger  who  stepped  into  the  elevator. 

“Dogcake  department,”  murmured 
the  latter  hoarsely. 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  SIREN’S  SPELL. 

Cora,  the  cash  girl,  was  one  of  those 
faultlessly  beautiful  girls  who  have 
golden  hair  and  peachblow  complexions 
all  seasons  alike,  regardless  of  the  ex- 
pense. 

She  was  but  a sub-cashier  in  the  em- 
ploy of  the  great  firm  of  Higgle  & Snig- 
gle, but  for  twenty  years  she  had  been 
known  as  the  cash-girl  coquette.  Whis- 
pers of  her  great  beauty  had  been 


By  ROY  L McCARDELl.. 

wafted  abroad,  and  the  haughty  Duke  of 
Dedbroke  had  sworn  she  should  be  his. 

He  reckoned  without  Ed,  the  elevator 
boy,  a lad  who  was  bound  to  rise,  and 
with  whom  Cora,  the  coquette,  had 
plighted  her  troth. 

The  duke  had  halted  her  now,  and,  as 
she  was  making  change  for  a customer 


during  the  rush  hours,  she  was  in  no 
hurry  and  paused  to  parley  with  the 
nobleman  in  her  usual  blithesome  way. 

CHAPTER  III. 

FROM  POVERTY  TO  THE  PEERAGE. 

‘•‘For  the  last  time,  will  you  marry 
me?”  hissed  the  proud  scion  of  a raqe  of 
belted  earls — under  Marquis  of  Queens- 
bury  rules. 

‘‘Are  you  a real  duke?”  she  asked 
listlessly. 

For  answer,  he  opened  the  dress-suit 
case  he  carried  with  him  and  took  out 
his  title,  and,  disentangling  it  from  the 
soiled  haberdashery  in  which  it  reposed, 
unrolled  it  before  her  eager  eyes. 

One  glance  showed  the  heartless  co- 
quette that  the  title  was  guaranteed  by 
the  Title  Guarantee  Company. 

‘‘Aubrey,  1 am  yours,”  she  whispered 
softly.  And,  faithless  as  she  was  fair, 
forgetting  the  troth  she  had  plighted 
Edgar,  the  elevator  boy,  forswearing  her 


promise  to  love  him  through  all  his  ups 
and  downs,  she  fled  to  become  the  proud 
bride  of  a ducal  coronet. 

****** 

As  for  Edgar  Eastlake,  he  said  noth- 
ing; but,  by  his  grim  and  determined 
air,  it  could  be  seen  that  it  were  not 
well  if  the  Duke  of  Dedbroke  crossed 
the  path  of  the  pale,  imperious  elevator 
boy. 

One  day  he  disappeared,  and  it  was 
rumored  that  he  had  become  a plumber. 
‘‘He  will  move  in  the  same  social  circles 
as  his  royal  rival,”  his  friends  said  sig- 
nificantly; ‘‘then  heaven  help  Aubrey, 
the  Duke  of  Dedbroke!” 

CHAPTER  IV. 

EGGED  ON  AT  EASTER. 

The  years  had  waxed  and  waned,  and 
once  again  Easter  came  with  crocuses 
and  chills,  and  Nature  donned  her  new 
spring  garments  of  green,  and  all  over 
the  world  fair  femininity  was  fain  to  be 
eke  and  likewise  newly  garmented. 

The  fair  Duchess  of  Dedbroke  petu- 
lantly paced  her  boudoir  in  the  east 
wing  of  Hankypank  Towers,  the  old 
ancestral  seat  of  the  Dedbroke  family. 

In  vain  the  duke  besought  her  to  be 
patient. 

‘‘Have  I not  bought  you  a duck  of  a 
bonnet,  a bird  of  a hat?”  he  asked. 


CHAPTER  V. 


“You  only  say  that  because  you  have 
seen  the  bill !”  she  said  sneeringly. 

“Ha!”  he  cried.  “You  wrong  me! 
I only  judged  it  by  its  wings.  Rut  does 
it  not  show  that  I have  laid  at  your  feet 
all  that  money  could  buy  or  refinement 
could  wish?” 

“No!”  Her  eyes  were  blaring  now. 
“You  have  squandered  my  dower,  the 
change  of  a waiting  customer,  when  I 
listened  to  your  honeyed  words.  For 
you  I threw  over  Edgar  Eastlake,  the 
elevator  boy,  and  crushed  his  proud 
spirit.  For  you  I came  away  from  the 
glad  glamour  of  my  girlhood  days  in 
Higgle  & Sniggle’s  Mammoth  Empo- 
rium; and  what  is  my  recompense?  I 
am  immured  in  a moldy  old  castle” — 
here  she  paused  and  added  impressively 
— “the  plumbing  of  which  has  been  con- 
demned !” 

The  duke  mused  a moment  at  these 
cruel  and  cutting  words.  “I  care  not 
for  the  consequences!”  he  said,  with 
bitter  emphasis.  “Aye,  even  if  it  means 
a tiled  bathroom  and  hot  and  cold  water 
on  every  floor  of  Hankypank  Towers ! 
She  must — she  shall  be  happy!”  And, 
crossing  the  room,  he  seized  the  bell 
rope  and  yanked  it  violently. 

“Send  fora  plumber,  and  at  once!” 
he  said,  with  tense  earnestness,  when 
the  answering  menial  appeared. 


FATE  IN  FUSTIAN. 

“Ha,  ha!  Ha,  ha!  Ha,  ha!”  These 
words  were  uttered  by  a man  clad  in 
diamonds  and  a cardigan  jacket.  It  was 
no  other  than  our  old  friend,  Edgar 
Eastlake  an  elevator  boy  no  more,  but 
a proud  and  prosperous  plumber,  esti- 
mates cheerfully  given. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  WEAVING  OF  THE  WEB. 

Little  more  remains  to  be  told.  Un- 
able to  pay  the  bill  brought  in  by  Ed 
Eastlake,  the  demon  plumber,  the  Duke 
of  Dedbroke  saw  a mechanic’s  lien  put 
upon  his  ancestrah  halls  of  Hankypank 
Towers. 

At  the  sale  the  property  was  bought 
in  by  the  ex-elevator  boy — now  a plum- 
ber beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice — and 
in  a few  weeks  the  last  of  the  Dedbrokes 
had  drank  himself  to  death  like  a gentle- 
man, although  the  papers  said  he  died 
of  a broken  heart. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  DEADFALL  OF  DESTINY. 

Ere  yet  another  Easter  brought  the 
blossoms  of  springtide,  Ed  Eastlake 


wedded  the  fair  Cora,  Duchess  of  Ded- 
broke. With  the  wealth  at  her  new 
husband’s  command,  she  assumed  the 
position  in  society  for  which  she  was  so 
eminently  fitted  and  for  which  she  had 
so  long  aspired. 

Yet  there  are  some  who  hold,  even 
now,  that  it  was  all  a deep-laid  plot,  in 
which  Aubrey,  the  last  Duke  of  Ded- 
broke. was  the  dupe. 

But  who  can  read  a coquette’s  con- 
science or  a plumber’s  purpose? 

THE  END. 

/ 

Fashion’s  Penalty. 

The  tears  were  raining  down  his  face; 
The  wife  feared  ’twas  a desperate  case. 
“At  last!  At  last!”  the  husband  cried: 
“I’ve  washed  my  face — it  must  be  dried  ! 
No  Turkish  towels  on  the  rack; 

They’re  in  your  gown- — alas!  alack  ! 
Thus  to  your  shoulder  now  I flee, 

To  wipe  my  face.  Well,  don’t  blame 

me!” 

Barely  Noticed. 

“What  did  Miss  Dashington  wear  at 
the  dinner  party?” 

“Blue.  I dropped  my  napkin  and  was 
able  to  look  under  the  table.” 

“Paw,  what  is  an  optimist?” 

“An  optimist,  my  boy,  is  a woman 
who  thinks  that  everything  is  for  the 
best,  and  that  she  is  the  best.” 


A Day  in 


the  Life  of  a 


Child. 


Off  to  school  with  Willie, 
Fearing  to  be  late. 

Johnny,  acting  silly. 

Brains  him  with  his  slate. 
Rattlesnake  in  Johnny’s  desk; 
Teacher’s  antics  picturesque. 

Homeward  through  the  village, 
Johnny  turns  his  toes; 

Arson,  theft,  and  pillage 
Cheer  him  as  he  goes. 

So  to  bed,  at  close  of  day, 
Wearied  with  his  childish  play. 


JOHNNY  wakens,  cheerful  — 
Playful  little  cub! — 

Nursie  filling,  clear  full, 

Johnny’s  morning  tub. 

Johnny,  quicker  than  a flash, 
Throws  her  in,  to  hear  the  splash. 

Breakfast  bell  is  ringing; 

Johnny  takes  his  place. 

See  him  gayly  flinging 
Mush  in  mamma’s  face! 

Papa  shakes  his  head  and  glares; 
Johnny  throws  him  down  the  stairs. 


Reader,  if  this  sounds  absurd, 

If  you  rather  doubt  my  word, 

If  you  scornfully  insist 
Such  a child  could  not  exist, 

Buy  a paper,  Sunday  next — 
Yellow  paper,  lurid  text — 

Read  the  comic  section  through! 
See  if  I have  lied  to  you! 

— Denm  Taylor 


EASTER  WORSHIP 


ALLOWANCE  FOR  BREAKAGE. 

C.  Abler — “ I wish  to  send  a cablegram  in  Russian.  What  are  the  charges?” 
Operator — “ Four  dollars  a word  and  damages.” 


WHERE  IT  IS. 


“ John,  get  me  my  pocket-book,  like  a dear.  If  it  isn’t  on  the  kitchen  table,  or  in  the  cut-glass  bowl  on  the  sideboard,  you  '11  probably 

find  it  under  one  of  the  sofa  cushions  in  the  sitting  room . ’ ’ 


The  Vinculum  Wife  Insurance  Company. 


lVyiEN,  attention!  Is  your  wife  in- 
sured?  You  insure  your  life,  your 
house,  your  motor  car.  Why  not  your 
wife?  Do  not  delay!  Insure  in  our 
company ! 

This  company  is  incorporated  under 
the  laws  of  the  United  States  and  is 
controlled  by  a capable  board  of  di- 
rectors, including  some  of  our  best 
known  novelists  and  playwrights. 

Eligibility:  Every  husband  of  sound 
body  and  sound  mind  (except  for  the 
slight  trace  of  dementia  shown  in  get- 
ting married  at  all),  and  whose  replies 
to  the  appended  questions 
are  satisfactory,  is  eligi- 
ble to  membership. 

Prohibited  risks:  Men 
who  are  married  to  suffra- 
gettes, to  bridge  fiends,  or 
to  members  of  the  theatri- 
cal profession  are  not 
eligible,  and  their  appli- 
cations cannot  be  consid- 
ered. 

To  obtain  a policy, 


subscribe  your  answers  to  the  following 
questions : , 

Are  you  (a)  handsome,  (b)  fairly  good 
looking,  or  (c)  plain? 

Are  you  of  a jealous  disposition? 

Do  you  give  your  wife  enough  money? 

(a)  From  her  point  of  view? 

(b)  From  yours? 

Do  you  always  let  her  have  her  way? 

Do  you  ever  contradict  her? 

Do  you  compliment  her  cooking? 

Do  you  compliment  her  clothes? 

Can  you  hook  up  her  gown  without 
swearing? 


Do  you  let  her  buy  your  neckties? 

Do  you  ever  praise  other  women  in 

her  presence? 

Do  you  employ  a lady  stenographer? 
(If  so,  state  her  appearance.  Append 
photograph,  if  possible.) 

Do  you  bring  her  flowers  and  candy  as 
often  as  before  you  were  married? 

Do  you  call  her  pet  names-? 

Do  you  let  her  buy  all  the  hats  she 
wants? 

Applicants  answering  these  questions 
satisfactorily  are  entitled  to  policies  in 
our  company.  So  far  we  have  taken 
but  few  risks,  but  we  are 
prepared  to  swing  a large 
business  if  we  can  secure 
the  policy-holders. 

Address,  Vinculum 
Wife  Insurance  Company, 
Darby  Benedick,  Agent. 

— Carolyn  Wtllt. 


Never  trouble  “bub- 
bles,” or  “bubbles”  ’ll 
trouble  you. 


NOT  OVERREACHING. 


“ Tommy,  are  you  tall  enough  to  reach  that  package  on  the  mantelpiece  ?” 
“ Not  if  it  is  my  cough  medicine.” 


JOHN  SMITH,  president  of  the  colony 
of  Virginia,  1608-1609,  was  a mem- 
ber of  the  proud  and  exclusive  Smith 
family,  of  which  only  eight  million  three 
hundred  and  forty-four  thousand  six 
hundred  and  thirty-two  members  were 
living  at  eight  o’clock  last  night.  He 
was  a descendant  of  Black  Smith,  one  of 
the  early  English  iron  magnates,  whom 
Longfellow  has  celebrated  in  his  verse, 
“Under  the  spreading  chestnut  tree.” 
Little  is  known  of  the  life  of  John 
Smith  except  what  was  written  by  him- 


J o h n Smith. 

By  ELL/S  PARKER  BUTLER. 

self,  and  this,  unfortunately,  reads  like 
an  autobiography  prepared  especially  for 
publication  in  ‘‘The  Prominent  Citizens 
of  Scott  County,  Iowa.”  There  seem  to 
be  touches  of  a vivid  and  untamed  imag- 
ination in  John  Smith’s  autobiography. 
Whenever  he  came  to  a dull  spot,  he 
thought  up  something  interesting  and 
put  it  in,  thus  making  his  story  thrill- 
ing and  likely  to  be  a best  seller.  An 
autobiography  of  this  sort  is  snappy, 
but  wouldn’t  please  Mr.  Roosevelt. 
John  was  too  prone  to  take  the  cold 


facts  and  wallop  the  hide  off  them.  He 
was  the  sort  of  man  that  could  go  to 
church  to  hear  a missionary,  and  come 
home  and  tell  his  wife  he  had  been  to 
the  North  Pole  and  got  tangled  in  the 
equator  there,  escaping  with  his  life 
only  by  grabbing  the  equator  back  of 
the  ears  and  breaking  its  neck. 

For  .that  reason,  I,  with  many  other 
eminent  authorities,  am  inclined  to  look 
on  his  story  of  Pocahontas  with  suspi- 
cion. I-  have  studied  the  eight  existing 

( Continued,  on  page  19.) 


EASY-  | HELD 
rous  KIMOS  AMO 

there  was  r our 

POLLABS  AMO 

. riETY  CENTS 
IN  THE 

KITTY 


DADDY  SAID 
MONEYS  WAS 
IN  THE  KITTY 
DADDY  DID 


IT  don’t  take  tommy’s  mother  long  to  put  two  and  two  together. 


Political  Rule  of  Woman. 

By  IDA  HVSTED  HARPER 

A CANDIDATE  for  the  Nobel  prize, 
given  for  the  greatest  service  to 
humanity  during  the  year,  announces 
his  claim  in  the  New  York  Sun  of  re- 
cent date.  He  has  made  a discovery ! 

“The  reason  the  woman  suf- 
fragists are  spending  so  much 
money  and  making  so  much 
noise  is  because  they  are  striv- 
ing for  the  greatest  prize  this 
country  affords — the  political 
control  of  men.”  How  are 
they  going  to  get  it?  Just 
read  the  census  returns.  “In 
101  cities  of  over  25,000  in-* 
habitants  and  in  seven  States 
are  more  women  than  men, 
and  they  could  take  command 
whenever  they  chose  if  they 
had  the  vote.”  And,  alas! 
they  are  not  so  well  prepared 
for  statesmanship  as  men,  he 
says.  Of  course  men  are  dis- 
playing great  “statesman- 
ship” in  their  management  of 
our  cities — but  let  that  pass. 

“Woman  suffrage  is  an  ex- 
pedient for  changing  thiscoun- 
try  from  a man-government 
to  a woman  - government,  ” 
says  this  rival  of  Dr.  Cook  in 
the  field  of  discovery  Well, 
why  not?  After  men  have 
had  the  upper  hand  for  130 
years,  isn't  it  women’s  turn?  A ONE  SIDED  DEVELOPMENT 

But  would  they  get  it,  even 
through  the  ballot?  The  census  report 
of  1911,  which  naturally  the  aiarmist 
didn't  know  was  available,  gives  a ma- 
jority of  about  2,692,000  men  in  this 
country,  and  a surplus  of  women  in  only 


five  States.  It  also  shows  that  this  sur- 
plus is  steadily  decreasing. 

Another  anti-suffrage  scarecrow 
bowled  over!  Gone  to  join  its  little 
brother,  who  chanted  the  refrain  for 
half  a century,  “Women  wouldn’t  vote 
if  they  had  the  suffrage!” 


What  She  Wants. 

'Tis  not  alone  the  equal  vote  she’s  asking. 
Nor  equal  right  to  govern  her  affairs, 
Nor  privilege  to  gain  a freer  tasking 
Outside  and  in  the  home — in  all  she 
shares. 


'Tis  not  to  shirk  her  part  as  wife  and 
mother; 

'Tis  not  to  ape  the  man— 
and  work  alone — 

Neglect  one  precious  duty  for 
another — 

Usurp  his  work  and  thus  re- 
nounce her  own. 


It  is  to  share  the  freedom  of 
the  nation. 

She  challenges  the  boast 
that  we  are  free, 

While  half  the  people  have  the 
regulation 

Of  what  the  other  half  shall 
do  and  be. 


So  it  is  to  feel,  indeed,  the 
freedom — 

To  have  an  open  field — to 
make  her  choice — 

To  be  admitted  to  the  nation’s 
household, 

On  equal  footing  and  with 
equal  voice. 


On  Dit. 


Mr.  Roosevelt’s  next  cam- 
paign problem  is:  What  sort 
of  saddles  ought  to  be  used  by 
the  women  voters  who  join 
Rough  Rider  campaign  regi- 
ments in  the  suffrage  States? 
☆ 

It  is  rumored  that  the  antis 
who  have  survived  defeat  in 
California  are  worried  lest  the  gender  of 
the  Pacific  fleet's  men-of-war  be  changed 
by  legislation.  Well,  they  must  worry 
about  something. 


Mks  MAY  WILSON  PRESTON, 

A successful  artist  and  ardent  suffragist  enthusiast. 


The  Logic  of  the  Voter. 

“Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Suffragist,”  said 
the  politician,  “we  men  would  be  glad 
to  give  the  vote  to  efficient  and  capable 
women  like  you ; but  how  would  you  feel 
when  your  cook  took  a day  off  to  go  to 
the  polls?” 

“I  have  not  experienced  much  diffi- 
culty in  that  respect,”  replied  Mrs.  Suf- 
fragist. “He  has  been  voting  for  sev- 
eral years.” 

Literary  Suffragism. 

Little  pupil — “What  is  an  anti- 
climax?” 

Suffragist  teacher — “The  mayor  who 
asks  a delegation  of  modern  club- 
women ‘if  their  husbands  know  they’re 
out.’  ” 


Mks  PEARCE  BAILEY, 

President  of  the  Equal  Franchise  Society  of  New  York, 
and  an  important  contributor  to  suffrage  literature. 


A man,  a miss.  Ecstatic  bliss  ! 

What  could  be  more  divine  than  this? 
Tis  not  amiss  that  he  should  kiss, 
And  yet  it  is,  forsooth,  a miss. 

But  paradoxes  do  abound 
Where'  er  the  god  of  love  is  found. 

" There 's  many  a slip  ?"  It  matters  not, 
Whene’er  lips  meet  the  cup 's  forgot. 


A C o n s u m 


\TEARLY  everything  printed  about 
A ~ the  stage  has  been  written  from 
unimportant  points  of  view.  There  is  a 
mass  of  flubdub  from  the  professional 
critic,  often  done  in  collaboration  with 
the  manager  of  his  business  office. 
There  are  the  views  of  actors,  which, 
were  they  only  half  as  sincere,  would  be 


“ SCRATCH  THEIR  EARS  WITH  THEIR  HIND  LEGS 
WHILE  THE  PRIMA  DONNA  IS  TRILLING.” 


worth  about  as  much  as  a manicure’s. 
There  are  confessions  and  complaints 
from  stars  and  soubrettes ; reminiscences 
from  producers,  describing  how  they 
managed  on  any  amount  of  capital  from 
a shoestring  to  a small  fortune;  and 
reams  and  reams  of  views,  reviews,  and 
interviews,  for  which  the  sole  responsi- 
bility rests  with  press  agents.  But 
never  is  there  anything  from  the  con- 
tingent most  concerned,  that  honorable 
legion  to  which  the  Rest  of  Us  belong 
— plain  persons  known  as  consumers. 

This  is  what’s  the  matter  with  the 
stage:  1,  Playwrights;  2,  actors;  3, 
critics.  Battered  and  honeyed  in  all  of 
his  waking  moments  by  representatives 
of  these  three  extra-eloquent  profes- 
sions, the  producer  is  deceived  into  be- 
lieving them  real  sources  of  informa- 
tion about  what  we  consumers  like  to 
hear.  Then,  as  if  to  make  sure  of  de- 
luding himself  as  completely  as  possible, 
the  producer  loves  to  scatter  a heavy- 
handed  claque  around  in  the  audience, 
and  thus  keep  himself  from  discovering 
whether  or  not  the  consumers  are  ap- 
plauding. If  it  weren’t  for  our  box- 
office  reproofs,  the  poor  fellow  wouldn’t 
have  a chance  in  the  world  to  guess  at 
the  facts. 


er’s  View  of  t 

By  CHARLES  PHELPS  CUSHING. 

It  is  nothing  short  of  marvelous  that, 
in  spite  of  all  these  barriers  on  the  trail 
to  truth,  a few  producers  have  been  sus- 
pecting lately  that  you  and  I are  a little 
dissatisfied.  And  that  is  why,  in  an 
earnest  attempt  to  please  us,  they  have 
taken  to  slaughtering  important  stage 
traditions.  Thus  we  have  seen  Belasco 
scourge  the  orchestras  from  his  theaters, 
to  give  us  the  play  tune-less.  Just  be- 
fore each  act  he  had  a hall -pay  xylo- 
phone artist  run  the  scales  on  some 
Japanese  dinner  chimes.  The  effect  was 
to  make  the  consumers  hungry.  Then 
he  would  ring  up  the  curtain  instead  of 
serving  something  to  eat.  Bernard 
Shaw  believed  he  was  getting  close  to 
our  innermost  when  he  deleted  the  ten- 
der sentiments  from  his  manuscripts 
and  gave  us  plays  that  were  love-less. 
(He  urged  the  critic-less,  also.)  Yet  he 
went  wrong  as  far  as  did  Ben  Greet, 
who  stowed  away  all  the  curtains  and 
sets  and  strove  to  please  with  the  scene- 
less. The  New  Theater  in  its  house 
beautiful  offered  the  drama  star-less. 
Ibsen  sent  over  some  plays  that  were 
mirth-less.  Scores  of  other  deluded  per- 
sons financially  interested  in  the  stage 
then  tried  to  reach  us  with  the  art-less, 
sense-less,  or  the  plot-less.  Isadora 
Duncan’s  young  brother  Raymond  tried 
out  the  hat-less,  shoe-less,  and  shave- 
less. He  succeeded  in  expressing  a 
lower  order  of  emotion  by  wiggling  his 
toes;  but  the  face  of  him,  in  the  shim- 
mer of  footlights  without  grease  paint, 
appeared  cadaverous.  And  the  latest  is 
“Sumurun,”  the  word-less. 


“ BELASCO  GAVE  L’S  THE  TUNE-LESS  PLAY — 
SENT  THE  ORCHESTRA  HOME  AND  SUBSTI- 
TUTED THIS  DINNER  CHIME.” 


he  Stage. 


Ah,  me,  friend  producer,  listen  for 
once  to  a word  from  one  of  your  con- 
sumers. If  your  idea  of  giving  us  some- 
thing new  is  always  to  slaughter  instead 
of  to  augment,  if  you  must  lop  off, 
please  make  first  some  lesser  reforms 
instead  of  these  rash,  wholesale  butch- 
eries. Really  it  is  only  a good  plot,  an 
interesting  story,  that  we  ask.  Just 
that  and  little  more.  ’Tis  all  we  ever 
have  required,  from  the  days  of  the 
Garden  of  Eden  to  these  of  the  Garden 
of  Allah.  Not  the  wit-less — only  the 
gag-less.  We  are  insurgents,  not  bloody 


“the  savage  consumer  keeps  hoping 

SHE  WILL  BREAK  IN  TWO — BUT  SHE  NEVER 
DOES.” 


anarchists.  We  pray  not  the  love-less 
— only  the  gush-less.  Not  the  set-less, 
the  tune-less,  or  the  shave-less;  rather 
the  claque-less,  dog-less,  burntsugar- 
less,  smoke-less,  and  eat-less.  Remove 
the  claque  and  find  out  whether  we  care 
to  applaud  your  show  or  don’t.  Take  us 
out  of  agony  by  keeping  your  greyhounds 
in  their  kennels  in  the  backyard  or  in 
the  cellar,  instead  of  lashing  them  to  a 
property  tree  to  scratch  their  ears  with 
their  hind  legs  while  the  prima  donna  is 
trilling.  Chuck  the  decanters  of  burnt- 
sugar  and  water.  Stage  drinking  isn’t 
realism;  we  common  folks  pour  ours 
from  jugs  or  flasks.  Don’t  allow  your 
prodigal  actors  to  throw  away  so  many 
cigars  and  cigarettes  half  smoked. 
Good  tobacco  deservesbetter  treatment — 
particularly  in  public.  Don’t  feed  your 
troupe  on  the  stage  during  an  act.  They 
never  consume  enough  food  to  do  them 
any  good,  and  the  Rest  of  Us  feel  in- 
sulted and  uneasy  while  we  watch  them 


COUNTING  THE  COST. 

“ I do  wish  papa  would  let  his  garden  grow.  But  he  says  things  are  high  enough  as  it  is.” 


It  is  for  slight  favors  that  we  are 
thankful,  as  for  the  suppression  of  bom- 
bast from  melodrama,  the  final  exit  of 
the  eccentric  king  from  comic  opera, 
and  the  fact  that  the  fat  comedian 
dressed  as  a woman  is  becoming  scarce. 
Our  hearts  leap  up  when  we  behold  a 
grand  piano  that  isn’t  labeled  with  yel- 
low letters  on  the  side:  “This  is  a 
Gloomingdale  Grand.”  We  are  thank- 
ful— profoundly,  sir — to  observe  that  a 
villainess  nowadays  may  wear  another 
color  than  scarlet,  that  heroines  need 
not  be  blond,  that  stage  money  is  being 
better  conserved,  and  that  a musical 
show  may  end  without  a patriotic  song 
and  a display  of  red,  white,  and  blue. 
Mangling  a popular  stanza — 

Oh,  friend  of  ours,  producer  friend, 

You  shouldn’t  worry  so; 

What  we  have  missed  of  joy 

We  couldn’t  have,  you  know  ! 

So  please  not  to  grow  frantic.  Please 
not  to  order  any  more  great  massacres 
before  consulting  the  consumers.  First 
eradicate  such  annoyances  as  the  vain 
young  fop  with  a small  mustache  who 
dances  on  table  tops,  and  the  young  lady 
who  doubles  herself  backward  over  his 
arm  under  the  delusion  that  she  is  danc- 
ing. This  type  of  girl,  we  all  have  dis- 
covered, never  breaks  in  two,  as  the 
sometimes  savage  consumer  keeps  hop- 
ing she  will  do.  You  have  fooled  us 
long  enough  on  this.  Take  her  away. 
Suppress  forever  the  local  allusion. 
Also  the  song  about  dear  old  Broadway. 
Reduce  the  average  of  unnecessary  pro- 
fanity. Prohibit  the  red  electric  light 
fireplace.  It  may  go  in  England,  where 


nobody  appears  to  have  heard  about  the 
invention  of  stoves  and  furnaces;  but  it 
makes  a poor  impression  in  a land  which 
is  intimate  with  steam  heat.  Recall 


REVERIES. 


that  a recent  production  in  New  York 
shattered  all  traditions  about  fireplaces 
by  having  a young  woman  rescue  The 
Papers  with  tongs.  While  you  are  about 
it,  annihilate  the  young  man  who  gam- 
bles on  the  stock  market  and  rushes  onto 
the  stage,  at  least  once  every  act,  and 
screams,  ‘‘I  must  see  father!”  If  ever 
again  you  feel  particularly  bold,  give  us 
not  another  word-less  play  or  something 
worse  in  the  direction  of  worth-less,  but 
some  such  genuine  novelty  as  a drama 
in  which  nobody  wears  a dress  suit  or 
flourishes  a revolver. 

Speaking  of  Numbers. 

Tell  me  not  in  Roman  numbers, 

When  you  speak  of  corner  stones. 

Or  the  dates  that  mark  the  slumbers 
Of  some  famous  crumbling  bones; 

For  I will  not  get  you  clearly — 

I’m  confused  by  Ms  and  Cs. 

If  you  tell  me,  do  it  merely 
In  plain  figures,  if  you  please. 

Shall  We  Never  Know  ? 

The  uncle  of  the  King  of  England  has 
visited  New  York,  and  the  tumult  and 
the  shouting  has  died,  as  Kipling  puts 
it.  And  yet  the  momentous  question  of 
the  century  is  no  nearer  a solution  than 
it  was  before — Who  and  which  are  New 
York’s  Four  Hundred?  On  mature  con- 
sideration we  have  decided  that  we  can 
still  get  a full  night’s  sleep  without 
knowing  the  answer. 

Gruff  customer  (looking  up  from  the 
menu  card) — ‘‘Have  you  brains?” 

Timid  ivaitress  (confused) — ‘‘No,  sir. 
That’s  the  reason  I’m  working  here.” 


The  courting  swain  in  days  of  old 
vVas  satisfied  the  hand  to  kiss 
Of  her  to  whom  his  love  he  told; 
But  twixt  that  distant  day  and  this 


Full  many  changes  have  been  wrought. 

We  scorn  mere  paltry  finger  tips, 
Preferring  kisses  of  the  sort 

That  need,  forsooth,  two  pairs  of  lips 


The  populace  who  used  to  dwell 
In  days  when  reigned  the  tarantelle. 
To-day  would  witness  with  a shrug 
Our  “ turkey  trot  " and  “ bunny  hug.” 


AMERICAN  UNREST. 


B o n a p a r t e — N a p o 1 e 


IV/TR.  BONAPARTE  celebrated  his  ini- 
A * tial  birthday  at  Ajaccio,  Corsica, 
in  1769.  He  passed  the  day  quietly  in 
his  own  home,  making  friends  with  the 
family,  faces  at  the  nurse,  and  plans  for 
the  future. 

Being  somewhat  poor,  he  had  little  to 
spend  in  his  early  days  except  his  youth, 
and  this  he  did  lavishly.  At  the  tender 
age  of  ten,  he  was  sent  to  a school  where 
scientific  scrapping  was  the  initial  num- 
ber on  the  curriculum.  Here  he  amused 
himself  by  standing  the  other  pupils  in 
a row  and  knocking  them  over,  as  one 
does  dominoes.  Tiring  of  this  quiet 
life,  he  became  an  officer  in  the  regular 
army,  and  one  day,  in  a moment  of  en- 
thusiasm, decided  to  conquer  the  world. 
This  occupation  kept  him  busy  most  of 


his  time  and  he  had  little  opportunity 
for  exercise.  His  only  recreations  were 
posing  for  his  photograph  in  a triangular 
hat  and  a far-away  look  and  sighing  for 
more  worlds  to  conquer. 

He  occasionally  spent  a week-end 
crossing  the  Alps  and  became  very  ex- 
pert at  it.  Being  small  of  stature,  he 
was  able  to  jump  from  Alp  to  Alp  with 
agility.  Mr.  Bonaparte  was  received 
with  ovations  wherever  he  went,  and 


o n . 

spent  his  time  pleasantly  until  he  had  a 
little  misunderstanding  at  a small  sta- 
tion on  a branch  line  called  Waterloo. 

This  changed  his  plans  entirely.  His 
family  physician  sent  him  to  a summer 
resort  for  a vacation;  but  finding  the 
place  infested  with  mosquitoes,  knock- 
ers, and  gossip,  he  hurried  back  to  the 
city.  Shortly  after  his  return  he  was 
arrested  for  fighting  without  a license 
and  sent  up  to  do  time  on  the  island. 
Here  he  spent  the  hours  gazing  out  over 
the  sea  with  folded  arms  and  hunting 
through  his  pocket  for  his  return  ticket. 


A Broadway  restaurant  is  a place 
where  people  go  who  are  not  hungry,  to 
eat  things  they  don’t  like,  for  which 
they  pay  prices  they  can’t  afford. 


UNCLE  SAM’S  DAUGHTERS. 


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MISS  ST.  I.OUIS. 


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MISS  CINCINNATI. 


^7/HEN  the  “Girly  Widow”  was  tried 
on  the  dog  in  one  of  the  New  Eng- 
land cities,  it  provoked  this  caustic  com- 
ment from  one  of  the  local  papers: 

‘‘The  ‘Girly  Widow,’  as  performed 
last  night,  is  full  of  dullness.  There 
are  situations  that  might  be  turned  into 
good  comedy,  especially  in  the  second 
act;  but  the  incompetent  members  of 
the  company  do  not  seem  to  be  able  to 
easily  rise  to  the  heights  necessary  to 
carry  out  the  author’s  witty  intentions. 
In  spite  of  the  cost  of  its  production,  it 
will  certainly  not  be  good  for  a year’s 
run  when  it  reaches  Broadway. 

‘‘Mr.  Walker  Strutt,  in  the  role  of 
the  young  lieutenant,  sings  his  lines 
without  distinction  and  seems  not  to 
have  a clear  conception  of  the  part’s 
requirements. 

‘‘Miss  Byllee  Buster,  in  the  title  role, 
is  not  refined  in  her  methods  and  does 
not  do  the  character  justice. 

‘‘The  chorus  was  good  in  spots,  but 
they  were  a lot  of  awkward,  raw  girls 
at  best,  and  there  were  many  homely 
faces  among  the  few  fine  lookers. 

‘‘The  only  good  thing  that  can  be  said 
of  the  orchestra  is  that  it  did  not  have 
to  play  often. 

‘‘The  shortsightedness  of  Mr.  Smythe 
in  putting  his  opera  into  the  hands  of 
the  Tie  Trotting  Opera  Company  is  to 
be  deplored.  Commended  though  he  was 
for  his  previous  work,  this  one  will  not 
add  much  to  his  dramatic  stature.” 

‘‘Oh,  that  is  fine!”  said  the  manager, 


THE  ONLY  REQUISITE. 

To  be  a hit  in  vaudeville 

And  have  your  name  in  lights, 

Just  spend  three  hundred  for  a gown. 

You  ’ll  pack  'em  mats  and  nights. 
Don  t worry  what  to  start  with  — 

To  get  a lasting  hand 
Just  finish  up  by  howling 

‘‘  Alexander's  Rag  Time  Band”  ! 


E 


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MISS  INDIANAPOLIS. 


Turning  Censure  Into  P 


raise 


looking  over  the  adverse  criticism  next 
morning.  ‘‘Without  altering  a word,  I 
can  turn  this  into  a rattling  good  send- 
off.  A little  pruning  is  all  that  is  nec- 
essary. Now,  just  watch  your  Uncle 
Fuller!” 

And  after  he  had  crossed  out  a few 
superfluous  words  and  phrases,  the 
scathing  criticism  was  made  to  highly 


praise  the  production.  And  the  New 
York  press  published  the  manager’s 
abridgment  of  the  play’s  premiere, 
which  read  as  follows: 

‘‘The  ‘Girly  Widow  as  performed 
last  night,  is  full  of  dullneoo. — There 
>-.ituationr.  that  might  bo  turned  iwt» 
good  comedy,  especially  in  the  second 
act;  the  incompetent  members  of 

the  companydo  o»t  seem  to  ba  able  to 
easily  rise  to  the  heights  necessary  to 
carry  out  the  author’s  witty  intentions. 
In  epilo  of  the  coot  of-S to- production,  it 
will  certainly -net-  be  good  for  a year’s 
run  when  it  reaches  Broadway. 

‘‘Mr.  Walker  Strutt,  in  the  role  of 
the  young  lieutenant,  sings  his  lines 
withow*  distinction  and  seems  not - to 
have  a clear  CQnception  of  the  part’s 
requirements. 

“Miss  Byllee  Buster,  in  the  title  role, 
is  refined  in  her  methods  and  does 

not  the  character  justice. 

‘‘The  chorus  was  good  in  epoter  but- 
i.hov  wore  n-  lot  of  nwliwtmh  eaw  gielfr 
nt  boot,  and  there  were  many  homoly 
faces  among  tho  fow  fine-  lookers. 

‘-The  only  good  thing  that  can  be  said 
of  the  orchestra  is  that  it  did  not  hove 
u>  play  often. 

“The  dhortoightednooo  of  Mr.  Smythe 
in  putting  his  opera  into  the  hands  of 
the  Tie  Trotting  Opera  Company  is  to 
he  deplored.  Commended  though  ho  wee 
■tor  his  nrevious  wor-k,  this  one  will  .not- 
add  much  to  his  dramatic  stature.” 

Harvey  Peakt. 


UNNATURAL  HISTORY  LESSONS. 


The  Buffalo. 

■THE  BUFFALO  is  a four-footed  quadruped  which  derives 
A his  name  from  a large  city  near  Niagara  Falls.  He  is 
a strongly  constructed  beast  with  many  peculiarities.  His 
head  is  large  and  heavy;  so  heavy  in  fajct,  that  were  it  not 
for  the  weight  of  his  long  tufted  tail  he  would  be  continu- 
ally tipping  up  and  standing  on  his  muzzle.  This  would 
interfere  with  his  eating,  as  the  buffalo  is  a muzzle-loader, 
so  we  congratulate  him  on  his  heavy  tail.  The  buffalo 
wears  a large  amount  of  hair  on  his  head  and  face.  This 
hair,  instead  of  commencing  at  the  skin  and  growing  out, 
commences  a number  of  inches  away  from  the  skin  and 
grows  in.  He  has  very  little  hair  around  the  waist,  but 
there  is  a sizable  beard  on  the  lower  end  of  his  tail.  The 
buffalo  has  only  thirteen  pairs  of  ribs.  This  is  an  unlucky 
number,  and  was  perhaps  the  cause  of  the  buffaloes’  ina- 
bility to  continue  their  residence  on  the  western  plains. 
Buffaloes  have  horns,  but  they  cannot  blow  them.  They 
use  them  to  annoy  their  enemies  with.  It’s  said  that  a 
buffalo  in  good  working  order  will  toss  an  elephant  over  the 
highest  tree  in  the  prairie.  But  as  there  are  no  elephants 
or  trees  in  the  prairie  we  may  put  this  down  as  a canard 
(meaning  hoax ; ridiculous  fabrication.)  In  India  a species 
of  bird  perches  on  a buffalo’s  hide  and  seeks  the  little 
ticks  that  are  wont  to  tickle  him.  This  is  the  way  the 
game  of  hide  and  seek  originated.  You  should  never  get 
buffalo  and  the  bison  mixed.  The  bison  is  an  American 
make,  while  the  buffalo  is  imported.  Buffaloes  are  by  no 
means  shy,  but  as  they  injure  the  furniture  by  scarring  it 
with  their  horns  they  are  not  cultivated  as  domestic  pets. 


****** 

“She’s  yours,  young  man!  Such  nerve, 
I know, 

Will  make  up  for  your  lack  of  Do.” 


The  Silenced  Pretender. 

Bilts — “Did  you  know  that  the  oldest 
of  Price’s  seven  daughters  had  eloped?” 

Siffert — “No.  How  was  the  old  man 
affected?” 

Bilts — “Oh,  he  took  on  dreadfully  at 
first;  then  he  found  out  that  every  one 
knew  he  had  bought  the  girl’s  railroad 
ticket.  ” 

In  South  America. 

First  senorita — “She  belongs  to  the 
most  exclusive  societies.” 

Second  senorita — “Yes;  she  is  a 
D.  S.  A.  P. — Daughter  of  South  Ameri- 
can Peace.  She  can  trace  her  descent 
from  ancestors  who  lived  in  the  two 
years  when  we  didn’t  have  any  war.” 


MORAL. 

Young  man,  don’t  mourn  your  dearth  of 
kale. 

Just  persevere —you’ll  run  the  scale. 


REFLECTED  GLORY. 

Visitor — “ Well,  my  little  man,  who  are  you?” 
Little  man — “ I 'm  the  baby’s  brother.” 


A Flight  of  Fancy. 


If  people  with  a mental  twist 
The  doctors  cannot  fix, 

Supposed  to  be  in  Luna’s  power. 
Are  known  as  lunatics, 

The  man  that  has  a flying  bee 
Amid  his  brain  machinery 
And  loves  among  the  clouds  to  stick 
Must  be  an  aeroplanitic. 


Not  Like  Mother  Made. 


What  it  was.  What  it  is. 

THE  LINE  OF  LEAST  RESISTANCE. 

The  Social  Scale. 

WHEN  I proposed,  she  answered, 
“No; 

The  man  I wed  must  have  the  Do.” 

When  next  I piped  my  plaintive  lay, 

She  said,  “Of  hope  there’s  not  a Re.” 

Again  I made  my  fervid  plea — 

She  cast  a withering  glance  at  Mi. 

She  met  my  fourth  with  cool  “Aha! 

This  matter’s  gone  a bit  too  Fa.” 


Johnny  and  his  mother  were  din- 
ing with  a friend.  The  first  course 
was  chicken  soup  with  macaroni  in 
it.  The  hostess  watched  Johnny  as  he 
sat  quietly  gazing  into  his  plate.  Finally 
she  asked,  “Why  don’t  you  eat  your 
soup,  Johnny?” 

“1  don’t  care  for  it,  please,  ma’am.” 
“But  your  mamma  said  you 
liked  chicken  soup.” 

“I  do  like  mamma’s  chicken 
soup,  but  she  don’t  put  the 
windpipes  in.” 


What  it  may  be. 


Five  times  I sought  to  gain  the  goal. 
Said  she,  “You  are  a patient  Sol !” 


The  sixth,  she  said,  “Go  ask  papa. 
Perhaps  he’d  like  a son-in-La.  ” 


So,  armed  with  lengthy  pedigree, 
I bolted  forth,  her  dad  to  Si. 


On  a Diet. 

Quizzo — “I  understand  that 
your  friend  Bronson  is  a vege- 
tarian. ” 

Quizzed — “Yes.  He  has  such 
pronounced  views  on  the  sub- 
ject that  he  married  a grass 
widow.” 


Their  View. 

Mrs.  Wayupp — ‘ ‘ She  says 
their  family  settled  in  Boston.” 
Mrs.  Blase — “Not  to  hear  the 
tradesmen  there  talk.” 


Suspicious. 

Mrs.  Talkalot — “Mrs.  Dashaway  says 
her  house  is  full  of  antiques.” 

Mrs.  Pneurich — “I  knowed  it  was 
full  of  something.  I seen  ’em  sprinkling 
insect  powder  around  the  other  day.” 


A Soft  Berth. 

Sympathetic  lady — “Where  did  you 
sleep  last  night?” 

Weary  Wiggles— “In  a coal  bin, 
mum.  ” 

Sympathetic  lady — “My  gracious! 

How  did  you  stand  it? 
Wasn’t  it  an  awfully  hard 
bed?” 

Weary  Wiggles  — “No, 
mum.  It  wuz  soft  coal.  ” 

At  Palm  Beach. 

“Seems  to  me  it’s  aw- 
fully stupid  here,”  re- 
marked the  transplanted 
Broadwayite.  “Can’t 
you  rake  up  a little  ex- 
citement?” 

“Well,  I might  let  you 
have  your  bill,”  suggest- 
ed the  hotel  manager. 


Tabloid  Sermons. 

Be  on  the  square— because  it’s  right, 
And  then  you  sleep  well,  too,  at  night. 

Here  is  a hint  I’ll  give  you  cheap: 
“Uneasy  is  the  swindler’s  sleep.” 

Be  patient,  my  son,  as  you  go  along; 
But  not  too  patient — or  you’re  in  wrong. 

Of  things  gone  “flui”  and  things  passe. 
The  deadest  of  all  is  Yesterday! 

If  you  would  roll  in  coin  and  pelf, 

Just  keep  your  secrets  to  yourself. 

— Berfn  Bralry. 

His  Occupation. 

Farmer  Hornbeak — “What’s  your 
nephew,  that  graduated  from  college  a 
spell  ago,  doin’  now?” 

Farmer  Bentover — “Still  colorin’  a 
meerschaum  pipe.” 

Innocent. 

Poverty  is  a crime  of  which  we  can- 
not accuse  the  wealthy  of  being  guilty. 


A MAN  OF  LOVE  LETTERS. 

He — “ 1 always  had  an  ambition  to  become  known  as  a man  of  letters." 
She — “ And  never  gratified  it?” 

He — “ Oh,  yes.  But  I didn’t  know  how  famous  I was  until  my  pro- 
ductions were  read  at  a breach  of  promise  case  trial." 


The 


nPHE  KANGAROO  is  a large,  able- 
A bodied  animal  with  an  adipose  tail 
and  an  anxious,  care-worn  expression  of 
countenance.  When  standing  the  kan- 
garoo sits  on  its  hind  legs  and  doubles 
up  its  forepaws  like  .the  fist  of  the  wooden 


By  ELLIS  PARKER  BUTLER. 

In  general  effect  it  looks  as  if  the  batter 
had  not  been  quite  thick  enough  when 
the  kangaroo  was  put  in  the  oven  to 
bake. 

Botanically,  the  kangaroo  belongs  to 
the  hop  family.  Nothing  is  sweeter 
than  to  see  a large  swarm  of  kangaroos 
hopping  over  the  steppes  and  mesas  of 
their  native  Australia,  the  whole  vast 
flock  rising  and  falling  in  unison,  while 
the  playful  kangaroo  children  leap  from 
pocket  to  pocket. 

Those  who  have  studied  the  hopping 
apparatus  of  the  kangaroo  pronounce  it 
a most  perfect  piece  of  mechanism.  In 
hopping,  the  kangaroo  presses  its  large 
and  virile  tail  against  the  ground,  digs 
its  toes  in  the  sand,  takes  a short  reef 
in  its  back,  and  prepares  to  hop.  It  is 
then  ready.  At  the  moment  it  feels  a 
hopping  impulse,  it  pushes  the  earth 
with  its  tail,  undigs  its  toes,  unreefs  its 
back,  and  away  she  goes,  hoppety  hop — 
hoppety  hop  — hoppety  hop.  Such 
thoughts  as  these  make  us  marvel,  in- 
deed, at  the  glorious  prodigality  of  na- 
ture, and  such  things. 

The  kangaroo  can  sit  on  the  lower  link 
of  its  left  hind  leg  and  scratch  itself  in 
the  back  of  the  head  with  its  right  hind 
toes.  I have  seen  an  otherwise  staid 
and  respectable  kangaroo  do  this,  with 
my  own  eyes.  Even  Theodore  Roosevelt 
must  pause  and  ponder  before  he  at- 
tempts this  feat,  which  is  as  nothing  to 
the  guileless  and  untutored  kangaroo. 

We  should  study  the  kangaroo  before 
we  allow  ourselves  to  become  proud  and 
haughty,  puffed  up  with  ideas  of  our 
human  superiority.  This  gentle  creature 


“HOPPETY  HOP — HOPPETY  HOP — HOPPETY  HOP.” 


needs  no  baby  carriage.  It  can  sit  down 
while  standing  upj  Its  eye  is  mild  and 
its  manner  modest,  and  yet  it  can  lift 
up  its  hind  leg  and  kick  a window  in  a 
Missouri  mule  before  the  mule  has  time 
to  breathe  its  song  of  battle.  The  kan- 
garoo is  a gentle,  guileless  creature,  and 
yet  one  side  swipe  of  its  tough  tail 


“ IT  IS  ONE  OF  THE  MOST  HOME-MADE  LOOKING 
ANIMALS.” 


cigar-store  Indian  that  grasps  the  neatly 
carved  hunk  of  wood  that  is  commonly 
supposed  to  represent  either  twelve 
cigars  or  a dozen  stalks  of  short  brown 
asparagus.  The  forelegs  of  the  kanga- 
roo, instead  of  trailing  on  the  ground 
like  the  forelegs  of  the  horse,  are  at- 
tached to  the  handsome  beast  up  some- 
where near  the  second  story,  just  above 
the  mezzanine  floor,  and  are  about  as 
useful  as  the  buttons  on  the  tail  of  a 
coat. 

The  young  of  the  kangaroo  are 
smaller  than  the  female  adult. 

This  i3  one  of  the  most  far-sighted 
provisions  of  nature,  since  the 
lady  kangaroo  wears  on  the  front  of 
her  robe  de  nuit  a pantaloon  pocket 
into  which  the  young  kangaroolets 
hop  when  danger  approaches.  If 
the  young  of  the  kangaroo  family 
were  larger  than  the  adults  they 
could  only  enter  the  pocket  with 
extreme  difficulty,  and  the  appear- 
ance of  the  graceful  mother  kan- 
garoo would  be  sadly  marred. 

In  the  scale  of  beauty  the  kan- 
garoo ranks  between  the  wart  hog 
and  the  toad.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  home-made  looking  animals. 


“‘that’s  nothink  but  them  sixteen  last 
GROGS  YOU  AND  ME  HAD.’  ” 


could  crush  a red-headed  dock-walloper 
into  a plain,  mushed-up  desuetude. 

The  kangaroo  was  first  discovered  by 
Captain  Cook  in  1770,  in  Tasmania  and 
eastern  Australia.  Upon  discovering  it, 
Captain  Cook  turned  to  his  first  mate. 

“Hi  say,  Rill!’’  he  said,  with  emo- 
tion. “Bally-lookin’  hanimals  a cove 
sees  in  these  yere  latitudes!  What?” 
“Right,  oh,  cap’n!”  said  the  first 
mate  heartily;  “honly  that  ain’t  no 
hanimal.  That’s  nothink  but  them  six- 
teen last  grogs  you  an’  me  had  in 
the  cabin  this  mornin’,  a-workin’ 
to  the  surface.” 

Fora  few  minutes  the  captain 
watched  the  young  kangaroos 
jumping  in  and  out'of  the  mother’s 
vest  pocket,  and  then  watched  the 
whole  cargo  go  loppety-lopping  off 
across  the  plain. 

“Plain  water  for  me  arter  this, 
Bill!”  he  said  solemnly,  and  from 
that  day  until  his  death  he  never 
touched  another  drop  of  grog. 


That  mysterious  underground 
volcano  discovered  at  the  Culebra 
cut  of  the  Panama  canal  is  nothing 
but  hot  air  escaping  from  the  bot- 
tled-up wrath  of  Colombia. 


TOO  LATE 


Time  to  Come  Home. 

THE  small  town  boy  had  been  sent 
to  a farmer  uncle’s  to  remain  for 
two  or  three  months,  but  at  the  end  of 
the  second  week  he  showed  up  at  home, 
much  to  the  disapproval  of  his  father. 

“Why,  Willie,  what  have  you  come 
back  here  for?”  the  parent  inquired  in 
no  pleasant  tone.  “I  sent  you  to  your 
uncle’s  for  a long  stay.” 

“I  know  you  did,”  Willie  replied; 
“but,  you  see,  it  was  this  way.  The 
first  week  they  killed  a sheep,  and  we 
et  that;  the  next  week  they  killed  a hog, 
and  we  et  that;  and  yesterday  the  hired 
man  died,  and  I thought  it  was  about 
time  to  come  home.” 

April  First. 

Mother — “Why,  what  is  the  matter, 
Johnny?  What  are  you  crying  about?” 
Johnny — “Teacher  made  me  sit  in  her 
chair  on  the  platform  to-day,  just  be- 
cause I whispered  once.” 

Mother — “Well,  I don’t  see  anything 
dreadful  in  that.  You  have  had  to  sit 
there  before.” 

Johnny — “But  there  was  tacks  in  her 
chair  to-day!  I’d  just  put  ’em  there 
for  her  to  sit  on.  ” 


Trouble  in  the  Chinese  Republic. 

Mrs.  Yung  Lo  (chairman  of  the  Chinese 
Ladies’  Militant  Millinery  Association) 
— “We  demand  Hats  for  Women!” 

The  Hon.  Sin  Hi  (member  of  the  Leg- 
islature in  the  province  of  York  Nu) — 
“I  am  an  Anti-Millineryist  and  cannot 
conscientiously  support  you  in  a move- 
ment that  is  a menace  to  the  nation. 
Nothing  would  take  women  away  from 
home  so ‘much  as  the  privilege  of  wear- 
ing hats;  it  would  unfit  our  wives  and 
mothers  for  their  sacred  duties.  They 
would  cease  to  know  how  to  cook  any- 
thing worthy  of  being  touched  with  our 
chopsticks.  Your  demand  threatens  the 
foundations  of  the  home.  Our  men  have 
always  worn  the  hats,  and  I believe  they 
should  retain  the  exclusive  right.  Be 
content  with  your  happy  lot  as  beings 
relieved  of  the  responsibility  of  decid- 
ing what  sort  of  hats  you  should  wear. 
You  are  not  yet  intelligent  enough  to 
know  whether  to  select  a hat  or  a bon- 
net, a theater  cap  or  an  ear-covering 
toque.  It  will  require  generations  of 
evolution  before  the  members  of  the  in- 
ferior sex  are  fitted  to  know  the  dangers 
they  incur  when  they  clamor  for  Hats 
for  Women!” 


Incapable  of  a Doubt. 

When  Senator  Albert  J.  Beveridge 
first  located  in  Indianapolis,  he  wasven- 
gaged  in  the  trial  of  a case  in  which  his 
opponent  was  no  less  a person  than  the 
late  Benjamin  Harrison.  The  young 
man’s  policy  throughout  the  case  was 
that  of  the  gadfly — he  hung  close  about, 
buzzed,  stung,  made  every  attempt  to 
attract  the  attention  of  his  distinguished 
opponent — all  to  no  avail.  Harrispn’s 
attitude  was  that  of  utter  ignorance  of 
the  young  lawyer’s  existence.  That  he 
was  really  aware  of  it,  however,  was 
evidenced  by  a remark  made  to  a brother 
attorney  some  weeks  later:  “It  would 
be  a good  thing  for  that  young  man  if 
he  were  occasionally  visited  by  a 
doubt.  ” 

A Boomerang. 

Flightly—“l  played  an  April  fool  joke 
on  the  Manywinter  sisters.” 

Knightly — “What  was  it?” 

Flightly—  “I  proposed  to  both  of  them 
the  same  day.” 

Knightly — “I  don’t  see  much  joke  in 
that.” 

Flightly — “Neither  do  I.  They  both 
accepted  me.” 


NO  ESCAPE. 

Penelope — “ If  you  loved  him,  why  did  you  refuse  him  at  first?” 

Ariadne — “ I wanted  to  see  how  he  would  act.” 

Penelope  But  he  might  have  rushed  off  without  waiting  for  an  explanation.” 
Ariadne — “ Oh'  I had  the  door  locked.” 


( 


SHEE 


NEARLY  CORRECT. 

“ Look  at  the  airyplane,  Josh  !” 

“ 'Tain’t  no  airyplane,  Ezek  ; one  o'  them  incorrigibles, 
I think  they  call  ’em.” 


An  Up-to-date  Reason. 

By  CHARLES  C.  JONES. 

1 CANNOT  sing  the  old  songs — 
The  songs  of  long  ago; 

My  heart  cries  out  for  bold  songs — 
Familiar  songs,  I know. 

But  I don’t  sing  them  ever. 

All  blissful  as  of  yore; 

From  them  I’m  forced  to  sever, 

And  thus  it  is  I never 
Poetically  soar. 

For  Phyllis  dotes  on  flying, 

And  so,  with  head  awhirl, 

I see — all  else  denying — 

The  aviator  girl. 

But  lest,  where  wings  are  sting- 
ing, 

She  fly  from  me  some  day, 

I’m  forced  to  cease  all  singing 
And  learn  to  do  my  winging 
In  the  new-fashioned  way  ! 

Cursory. 

A huntsman  called  on  Hodge  to 
settle  for  damage  done  by  a run 
to  hounds,  and  found  only  Mrs. 
Hodge  at  home. 

‘‘Has  your  husband,”  he  in- 
quired, “made  an  examination 
yet?” 

“That  he  have,  sir!”  replied 
Mrs.  Hodge,  with  a curtsey. 

“Rather  a cursory  examina- 
tion, I suspect?” 

“Oh,  dreadful,  sir!  Such  lang- 
widge  I never  heerd— never !” 
And  the  good  woman  held  up  her 
hands  at  the  bare  recollection. 


Definitions. 

Weather — A convenient 
handle  with  which  to  take 
hold  of  a conversation. 

Collar  Button — The  pivot 
around  which  a man’s  toilet 
revolves. 

Sausage — T he  link  be- 
tween man  and  beast. 

Corsets — The  straight  and 
narrow  way. 

Ragtime  Music — The  uni- 
versal  slanguage  of  man- 
kind. 

A Woman’s  Hotel — A hen- 
coop. 

Thoughts — Things  for 
which  we  would  be  arrested 
if  they  were  known. 

1912  Weddings — Examples 
of  the  efficiency  of  leap  year. 

Vaudeville — The  hash  of 
the  dramatic  bill  of  fare. 

Foods — Groundlings  with 
aeroplane  ambitions. 

Spring — The  muzzle 
son  for  young  poets. 

Age — The  sediment  clogging 


Sea- 


ttle 


pipes  of  the  fountain  of  youth. 


Newspaper  Enterprise. 

City  editoi — “Hi,  Sims!” 

Sims  (the  reporter) — “Yes,  sir.” 

City  editoi — “Go  down  tj  the  hotel 
and  interview  that  magnate  and  get  his 
denial  of  the  interview  at  the  same 
time.  Scoot,  now!” 


“OH,  MAMMA  ! HERE  COMES  A SANDWICH.” 

An  Elaborate  Dinner. 

“Was  it  an  elaborate  dinner?” 
“Very.” 

“Plenty  of  champagne?” 

“Flowed  just  like  water.  But  that 
wasn’t  the  chief  display.” 

“That  so?  Were  the  favors  unusual?” 
“They  were  of  solid  gold.  But  what 
really  attracted  the  most  attention  was 
that  there  seemed  to  be  an  unlimited 
supply  of  butter.” 

Sonnet  to  My  Waiter. 

Oh,  minion,  fleet  as  Mercury  of  old, 

Who  greetest  me  with  smile  and 
scrape  and  bow, 

Thou  art  a man  of  mighty  skill, 
I vow; 

Insistent,  yet  not  freshly  over- 
bold. 

Thou  sayest,  “You  really  that 
must  choose, 

And  this  to-day  is  cooked  ex- 
tremely well”; 

And,  though  my  eye  on  cheaper 
eats  would  dwell, 

I dare  not  thy  suggestions  to  re- 
fuse. 

I would  not  have  a waiter  think 
me  small 

Or  well-nigh  broke,  for  then, 
mayhap,  he’d  sneer 
Behind  my  back.  I have  a mor- 
tal fear 

Of  waiters’  scorn.  I can’t  stand 
that  at  all. 

Come  here,  garcon;  you’ve  really 
served  me  right. 

Please  take  this  tip.  (I’ll  foot 
it  home  to-night !) 


“This  is  a dead  beat,”  said  the 
cop,  as  he  made  the  rounds  of  the 
cemetery.  And  it  came  to  pass 
that  the  graves  yawned. 


Beauty  and  Genius  in  the  Theater 


The  Magic  of  Maxine  and  the  Necromancy  of 


VV7HEN  Beauty  exerts  her  charm  on 
vv  the  stage — the  noun  should  always 
be  feminine — the  critical  notion  that 
“art”  should  dominate  dissolves  in  the 
witnessing  mind,  unless  some  atrophied 
critic,  obsessed  by  younger  memories, 
should  be  inclined  to  cavil  at  it.  What 
do  we  know  of  the  Peg  Woffingtons,  the 
Mistress  Bellamys,  and  the  Mistress 
Bracegirdles  beyond  what  the  enthusi- 
astic portrait  painters  of  their  times 
have  handed  down  to  posterity?  There 
are  women  on  the  stage  to-day  that  type 
these  and  other  physical  marvels  of  the 
past,  and  they  do  not  require  to  be 
strictly  or  dominantly  artistic  to  be  ac- 
claimed— as  long  as  beauty  lasts. 

An  example?  Well,  who  can  say  that 
Maxine  Elliott  shall  not  figure  to  future 
generations  as  the  belles  of  the  stage  of 
older  time  figure  to  this  generation? 
Miss  Elliott  has  been  prominent  ever 
since  she  divorced  that  versatile  dabbler 
in  matrimony,  Nat  Goodwin.  She  was 
accepted  in  the  theater  before  the  Good- 
win episode  for  a dazzling  beauty;  and 
Goodwin  is  a connoisseur.  In  the  light 
of  her  physical  radiance,  critics — as 
well  as  the  public — forgot  to  think  or 
say  anything  very  definite  about  her 
histrionism.  Miss  Elliott  has  long 
aspired  to  be  “just  an  actress,”  and 
still — in  the  intervals  of  her  holiday- 
making— aspires  to  be  one.  Where  is 


she  at  the  moment?  Possibly  coming 
back  from  the  Durbar,  to  become  an  in- 
cidental ornament  of  which  she  was 
invited  by  distinguished  persons  not 
remote  from  royalty.  What  should  she 
care,  really,  whether  she  is  accepted  as 
an  actress  or  whether  the  mass  privi- 
leged to  do  so  merely  gazes  upon  her  and 
is  thrilled  by  other  means?  Her  more 
domestic  and  hardly  less  handsome  sis- 
ter, Gertrude,  is  appearing  in  a play 
called  “White  Magic.”  What  a term 
that  might  be  for  the  beauty  of  a fair 
woman!  Maxine’s  name  identifies  a 
million-dollar  theater  in  this  capital. 
She  maintains  a great  city  house  up- 
town, so  near  Fifth  Avenue  that  it  as- 
similates the  atmosphere  of  that  proud 
thoroughfare.  She  has  a mansion  in 
London,  and  her  entourage  might  excite 
envy  in  the  favorite  of  an  Eastern  poten- 
tate. White  magic,  indeed! 

And  yet  there  are  women  who  get 
along  very  well  on  the  stage  without 
inspiring  portrait  painters  to  depict 
mere  beauty  or  causing  the  public  to 
forget  that  really  there  is  something 
else  legitimate  to  the  theater.  Who, 
for  instance,  will  care  to  refrain  from 
seeing  Great-grandmother  Bernhardt 
when  she  comes  again  next  year,  as 
probably  she  will,  to  renew  her  impres- 
sions of  America  and  the  revenues  of 
her  son  Maurice?  On  May  20th,  1880, 
as  she  was  breaking  the  traditions  of 
the  Comedie  Francais  by  leaving  that 
historic  institution  to  earn  more  money 
— she  received  there  but  thirty  thousand 
francs  a year — she  remarked  that  the 
thirty  thousand  might  do  very  well  for 
persons  “who  will  play  twenty  years, 
forty  years,  or  fifty  years”;  but  that 
when  one  did  not  want  to  grow  gray  at 
the  theater,  it  was  necessary  to  earn 
more  “and  to  live  more  rapidly.”  She 
asked  if  she  should  be  one  of  these  peo- 
ple “in  twenty  years,”  and  said  she 
didn’t  want  to  “grow  old  before  the 
footlights.”  Ah,  vanity,  vanity!  And 
yet  Bernhardt  is  almost  as  young  in 
spirit  as  she  was  thirty  years  ago,  when 
she  was  moved  to  climb  the  masts  of 
ships,  to  hunt  big  game,  to  fondle  a 
growing  tiger  as  other  women  would  a 
lapdog,  and  to  sleep  in  a coffin.  One 
still  hears  of  manifestations  of  her 


Sarah. 


SARAH  ItERNHARDT 


artistic  temperament,  but  the  tiger  has 
grown  up  and  naturally  has  been  ban- 
ished from  the  boudoir.  The  coffin? 
Well,  the  years  work  wonders. 

Those  Auto  Horns. 

Oh,  these  auto-squawkers’  noises! 

From  their  tooting  and  their  shrieking 
Soon  we’ll  lose  our  equipoises 
And  asylums  we’ll  be  seeking. 

Honk  horns  with  their  bulbs  of  rubber 
We  can  stand;  they’re  not  infernal. 
But  we’re  prone  to  sob  and  blubber 
When  from  sleep,  in  hours  nocturnal, 

We  are  waked  by  raucous  whistles; 

And  we  long  those  auto  drivers 
To  o’ertake  with  leaden  missiles 
And  with  tortures  dire  and  divers. 

When  they  reach  the  lower  regions 
And  have  ended  earthly  revels, 

Let  us  hope  that  many  legions 
Of  Old  Nick’s  assistant  devils 

Each  will  take  some  sort  of  hooter, 

That  on  earth  now  all  the  rage  is, 

And  forninst  their  ears  will  toot  ’er 
Down  through  all  the  coming  ages. 


THE  NEXT  STEP? 


COAST  DEFENCE  OF  THE  FUTURE— WINDING  OFF  A FLEET  OF  HOSTILE  AIRSHIPS 


Uncle  Silas  Goes  to  Grand  Opera. 


cud  see  my  verricose  veins  clean  through 
'em,  en  the  sleeves  uv  the  coat  quit  so 
high  up  et  purty  nigh  all  uv  my  knit 
wristers  wuz  showin’.  Ef  they'd  a ben 
white  stid  uv  red,  it  wouldn’t  a ben  so 
bad.  Raout  eight  o’clock  Hiram  he 
hired  us  one  uv  them  taxin'  cabs.  They 
wuz  a little  dingus  onto  it  tew  tell  us 
haow  far  we  wuz  travelin’,  en  I’ll  be 
durned  ef  we  didn’t  kiver  eighty 
miles  in  less’n  ten  minnits.  Jee- 
rusalem,  haow  them  things  kin 
scoot ! 

“The  opery  house  wuz  purty  nigh 
full  up  when  we  got  thar.  but  the 
manager  knowed  Hiram  en  I wuz 
cornin’,  I reckon,  cuz  they’d  kep  us 
tew  good  seats  The  manager,  he 
sez,  ‘Cum  right  down  in  the  or- 
chestry’;  but  1 tole  Hi  1 didn’t 
want  tew  set  with  the  fiddlers  en 
all  them  so  the  manager  hegiv  us 
seats  in  the  front  pew  instid.  He 
sez,  * Ere  gentlemen,  you’re  in 
Hay.'  Thet  made  me  a little  mite 
mad.  but  Hi,  he  sez  the  feller  wuz 
an  Englishman  en  heel  his  aitches 
dislocated,  and  thet  he  meant  A 
I wuz  sorry  thet  he  hed  tew  be 
managin  when  he  hed  thet  trouble, 
but  I didn ’t  say  no  more  abaout  it. 

“Wall,  they  wuz  a woman  set- 
tin’  in  front  uv  me  thet  purty 
nigh  spilt  the  hull  opery.  When 
she’d  tuck  off  her  coat  she’d  made 
a mistake  en  took  her  waist  along 
with  it.  She  hedn  t a stitch  left 
onto  her  back  but  a pair  uv  silk 
galluses,  but  she  didn’t  seem  ter 


“ITAOWDY,  Silas?’’  said  Lem  Gil- 
1 strap,  the  postmaster  and  gen- 
eral merchant  of  Stringtown,  as  the  per 
son  addressed  entered  his  emporium. 
“Heerd  ye  went  tew  the  opery  while  ye 
wuz  tew  Noo  York  visitin’  along  Hiram’s 
folks.  ” 

“Wall.  I shud  calklate  I did,”  said 
Uncle  Silas;  “en  1 wunt  never  fergit  it 
—no,  sirree!’’ 

“What  wuz  it  like?  Can’t  ye 
tell  us  abaout  it?”  Lem  asked. 

This  suggestion  was  echoed  by  a 
half-dozen  other  Stringville  citi- 
zens who  were  grouped  around  the 
comfortable-looking  stove  in  the 
rear  of  the  store,  where  they  daily 
congregated  in  the  winter  season 
for  the  mental  recreation  gotten 
from  the  interchange  of  profound 
ideas 

“What  wuz  it  like?”  repeated 
Uncle  Silas,  seating  himself  on  an 
inviting  and  centrally  located  nail 
keg.  “It  warn’t  like  nothin’.  It 
wuz  the  tarnationest  lot  uv  crazy 
carryin’s  on  thet  I ever  heerd  tell 
on.  Cum  purty  nigh  supper-time, 
Hiram,  he  sez  tew  me,  ‘Dad,’  he 
sez,  '1  hev  tew  tickets  fer  the 
opery  to-night;  but  ye  can’t  wear 
them  cloze,’  he  sez.  ‘Ye’ll  hev 
tew  hev  evenin’ cloze.  ’ The  near- 
est thing  I hed  tew  evenin’  cloze 
wuz  night  cloze,  but  I sez,  ‘I’ve 
got  a biled  shirt  in  the  valeese 
thet  yer  ma  done  up  last  year. 

I’ve  only  hed  it  on  five  er  six 
times,  en  it  hain’t  dirty  yit,  ’ I sez. 


I'll  put  thet  on,  en  turn  my  vest  back 
under  my  gallusses,  en  pin  up  my  black 
meetin’  coat  soz  it’ll  look  jest  like 
yourn.’  I sez  But  Hi,  he  sez  we’d  hev 
tew  go  to  a costoom  rentin’  place  en  hire 
one. 

“Wall,  I faound  one  thet  wud  a fit  me 
fine  ef  it  hadder  ben  ’baout  six  sizes 
bigger.  The  pants  wuz  so  tight  yew 


Both — ” Gee  ! what  a nerve  he  has  ’’ 


keer  a durn.  I thot  mebby  she 
wuz  so  excited  ’baout  seein’  the 
opery  thet  she  didn’t  know  what 
she’d  done,  en  I wuzgoin’  tew  tell 
’er;  but  Hi,  he  sez  tew  leave  her 
alone,  so  I hed  tew  set  thar  en 
watch  the  show  over  her  bare  back. 

I’d  a hated  tew  see  Mirandy  set- 
tin’  thar  like  thet. 

“Then  the  opery  commenced.  It 
wuz  the  drattedest  thing  I ever 
see.  The  actors  en  actresses  kep’ 
singin’ while  they  wuz  actin’.  You 
cud  a heerd  them  a-singin’  frum 
yere  up  tew  Stringtaown  Corners. 
Hiram,  he  sez  the  name  uv  the 
opery  wuz  ‘Twist  ’Em  en  a Sol- 
dier,’ er  sum  sech  fool  name  like 
thet.  They  didn’t  sing  no  toons, 
en  one  wouldn’t  wait  'tell  another 
got  done.  Sometimes  they  wuz  six 
singin’  tew  oncet,  all  different 
One  fat  feller  nigh  busted,  he  got 
so  mad  at  a woman  ’et  kep’  sing- 
in when  he  wanted  her  to  quit.  I 
reckon  he  wuz  full.  They  say  them 
actor  folks  drinks  like  fishes. 
Sometimes  most  on  ’em  ’d  go  aout. 
en  leave  one  feller  en  his  woman.  Seems 
like  they  wuz  lonesome,  cuz  they’d  com- 
mence bawlin’  en  kissin’.  It  didn’t  do 
’em  no  good  tew  try  tew  talk,  cuz  they 
wuz  foreigners,  en  cudn’t  onderstand 
each  other  nohow.  Them  folks  kep’  up 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  DOVE — A.D,  H82+ 

their  didoes  fer  nigh  onto  three  hours,  en 
I got  tarnation  sleepy ; but  ever  oncet  in 
a while  some  one’d  let  out  a war-whoop, 
then  I’d  open  my  eyes  en  glanct  at  thet 
woman’s  naked  back  in  front  uv  me, 
en  the  shock’d  keep  me  awake  sum  time. 


“Wall,  they  got  tuckered  aout 
en  quit  arter  a while,  en  I wuz  glad 
it  wuz  over.  I heerd  the  woman 
in  front  uv  me  say  tew  her  man, 
‘Isn’t  Gatticazzazi  a lallapaloosa?’ 
So  the  poor  woman,  I see,  wuz 
crazy  as  tunket.  Probly  she  didn’t 
know  she  wuz  ondressin’  thetaway, 
en  her  man  orter  hev  told  her. 

“Opery  may  be  grand  fer  them 
as  likes  it.  but  I’d  ruther  hear  our 
choir  daown  tew  the  meetin’ 
house  sing,  ‘When  the  Roll  Is 
Called  up  Yender, ’ then  tew  hear 
en  see  all  the  grand  operys  they  is 
in  the  hull  kentrv.’’ 

Diamond  Dust. 

The  first  step  of  bachelors  to 
secure  better  quarters  should  be  to 
look  around  for  better  halves. 
Keep  a friend — don’t  marry  him. 
None  but  the  braids  preserve  the 
hair. 

Beauty  that  is  not  skin  deep 
will  rub  off. 

It  is  often  true  that  the  dentist 
feeds  himself  better  with  your 
teeth  than  you  do  yourself. 

It  Usually  Does. 

“Has  marriage  brought  about  a great 
change  in  Bilkins?” 

“No;  it  has  made  small  change." 


CAB.  SIR!  CAB?" 


HOW  AGGRAVATING. 

Brown—  “1  saw  a man  drop  twenty  stories  the  other  day, 
and  it  was  a caution  the  way  he  swore.’’ 

Greene — “ Swore  after  dropping  twenty  stories  ? ” 

Brown— “Yes.  They  were  in  a magazine  he  had  just 
bought,  and  he  dropped  it  in  the  mud.” 


Why  Books  Multiply. 

IN  THE  first  place,  Scribbleton 
* writes  a book  called  “The  Hus- 
bands of  Lucy.”  It  scores  a big 
success,  and  a reporter  from  the 
Daily  Grind,  interviews  the  author. 
Other  reporters  come,  till  the  writ- 
er begins  to  wonder  why  he  can- 
not do  something  in  that  line  him- 
self. He  gets  out  another  volume, 
“How  I Came  To  Write  ‘The  Hus- 
bands of  Lucy.’ ” Then  Littleman 
Lackcopy  publishes  one  entitled 
“The  Home  Life  of  Scribbleton, 
Author  of  ‘The  Husbands  of  Lu- 
cy,’ ” and  Susan  Spoilpaper  takes 
her  pen  in  hand  and  produces  ‘ The 
Character  of  Lucy : Is  She  Typi- 
cal?” 

Next  Albert  Alsoran  comes  out 
with  “Scribbleton— An  Apprecia- 
tion,” and  J.  Jumpupp  calls  his 
“Is  Scribbleton  Overrated?” 
Scribbleton  is  pretty  sure  he  is  not 
overrated,  and  he  likes  the  taste  of 
royalties;  so  he  tries  again,  calling 
it  “Moonlight  on  the  Highway  : A 
Sequel  to  ‘The  Husbands  of  Lu- 
cy.’” In  the  meantime  Oliver 
Goldsmith  Sneakaround  has  pub- 
lished “The  Debt  Scribbleton  Owes 
to  Wrightenwell.” 

After  a while  Scribbleton  dies 
and  his  wife  breaks  into  print 
with  “Some  Unfinished  Stories 
by  Scribbleton,  Edited  by  His 
Wife.”  Isaac  Inkslinger  per- 
petrates “The  Scribbleton  I 
Knew,”  and  J.  Jones  Gumshoe 
“Scribbleton’s  Love  Affairs.” 
The  reporter  who  first  wrote 
him  up  steps  to  the  front  with 
“Scribbleton  and  Other  Celebri- 
ties I Have  Interviewed.” 
Then  appear  “Scribbleton’s 
Place  in  Literature,”  by  Book- 
worm Research,  and  “Scribble- 
ton’s Letters,”  by  Bronson 
Bodysnatcher. 

There  is  no  knowing  how  far 
it  might  go,  but,  fortunately,  a 
new  authorappears,  whose  book 
makes  even  a greater  stir  than 
Scribbleton’s;  so  Scribbleton 
and  “The  Husbands  of  Lucy” 
are  relegated  to  the  background, 
for  the  present  at  least,  while 
the  crowd  goes  through  the 
same  performance  with  the  new 

man.  — Walter  G.  Dot). 


Soft  drink  turneth  away  guests. 


The  Passionate  Aviator. 

(Three  hundred  years  after  Kit  Marlowe.) 

Come,  fly  with  me  and  be  my  love. 
And  we’ll  skyhoot  through  realms 
above ; 

We’ll  sail  as  high  as  we  can  go — 
For  love  on  land  is  now  too  “slow.” 


We’ll  take  a spin  among  the  stars. 
And  spend  our  honeymoon  on  Mars ; 
Then,  when  the  year  gets  round  to 
June, 

We’ll  do  our  spooning  i:i  the  moon. 


For  us  Niagara  has  no  charms; 
Mundane  resorts  are  “false 
alarms.” 

Let  others  hike  to  hills  or  bay — 
We’ll  skim  adown  the  Milky  Way. 

The  Evening  Star  shall  be  our 
lamp, 

And  Sirius  shall  guard  our  camp; 
Orion  shall  be  there  to  keep 
The  Bears  from  breaking  up  our 
sleep. 

In  wind-swept  space  we  shall  enjoy 
Our  love  without  earth’s  base  alloy. 
So  fly  with  me  and  be  my  love. 
And  we  shall  all  the  pleasures 

prove.  — John  Northern  Hilliard. 


Any  Port  in  a Storm. 

“But,  George,”  said  Mrs. 
Bjones,  “ I cannot  go  to  the  thea- 
ter with  you  to-night.  I have 
nothing  to  wear.” 

“That’s  all  right,  dear,” 
said  Bjones.  “Put  it  on  and 
we’ll  go  to  the  opera.” 


Method  in  Their  Modesty. 

“Aviators  appear  to  be  a 
modest  set.  ” 

“They  probably  appreciate 
the  truth  of  the  adage,  ‘Pride 
goes  before  a fall.’  ” 


THE  WORM  AND  THE  BUTTERFLY. 


New  Variety. 

Barely  had  the  caterpillar  set- 
tled himself  to  eat,  however,  than 
he  was  touched  on  the  shoulder  by 
an  attendant,  who  held  out  a plate 
in  a significant  manner. 

“What!”  exclaimed  the  cat- 
erpillar indignantly. 

The  attendant  pointed  to  an 
indicator.  “This,”  quoth  he 
quietly,  “is  a taxicabbage !” 


SATISFIED  WITH  HIMSELF. 

Scarecroav  (proudly) — “ Ha  ! I can  even  scare  the  big  ones  away.” 


When  Money  Took  Wings. 

Comedian  — “Did  the  ghost 
walk?” 

Soubrette — “No;  it  was  an 
aviation  comedy,  and  the  ghost 
flew  after  the  first  week.” 


LOVE  S VEHICLES 


J . A.  WA  L D R O N 


WHEN  Love  his  shining  mark  has  set 
For  happiness  on  maid  and  man, 

No  opposition  ever  yet 

Their  plans  has  foiled  since  time  began. 

That  fervid  phrase,  “Oh,  fly  with  me!” 
Has  similars  in  every  tongue. 

It  voices  Love’s  emergency 

Whenever  sighed,  whenever  sung. 

Eloping  always  is  a game 

That  lovers  play  to  lead  the  van. 
Pursuers  either  pull  up  lame 
Or  figure  with  the  “also  ran.” 


And  on  the  backs  of  fiery  steeds 
Full  many  a pair  has  got  away, 

While  wagons  and  velocipedes 

Or  other  means  have  won  the  day. 

In  arctic  regions  dog-sleds  glide 
The  fur-clad  couples  on  their  way; 

And  on  the  backs  of  camels  ride 
Your  desert  lovers  as  they  may. 

No  land  lacks  locomotive  means 

When  lovers  make  their  plans  to  flee, 

And  naught  effective  intervenes 
To  head  them  off  by  land  or  sea. 


Love’s  purpose  in  the  olden  days 


But  lovers  now  more  favored  are 


S3J 

L.augnea  at  tne  araworiage  ana  tne  moat, 
For  there  are  always  many  ways 
To  get  the  opposition  goat. 

man  lovers  were  witn  cruaer  aias. 
For  many  use  a motor  car 

And  scorch  away  to  happy  glades. 

No  night  so  dark,  no  road  so  rough, 
No  sun  so  hot,  no  day  so  cold, 
But  that  the  lover  bold  enough 
Can  conquer  troubles  manifold. 

And  those  who  in  the  future  fail 
To  find  a horse  or  catch  a train 
Will  simply  look  aloft  and  hail 
Some  traffic-seeking  aeroplane. 

Eternal  activity  is  the  price  of  pub- 
lic notice.  — The  Man  Who  Knows. 

Eternal  straddling  is  the  price  of  a 
second  term.  — The  Present  Incumbent. 


Variations  of  an  Old  Maxim. 

Eternal  contribution  is  the  price  of 
immunity. — The  In-bad.  Interests. 

Eternal  invention  of  new  issues  is  the 
price  of  existence. — The  Party  Leaders. 


Eternal  importunation  for  votes  is  the 
price  of  citizenship.  — The  Voter. 

Eternal  diligence  is  the  price  of  the 
price.  — The  Consumer.  - m sthnudtr. 


Spring  Love  Song. 
Model  1912. 

Oh,  love,  my  love,  let  us  away 
Along  the  pleasant  roads  of  May, 
To  view  the  vernal  scene! 
New-model  cars  bloom  freshly 
fair, 

While  mingles  with  the  balmy  air 
The  smell  of  gasoline! 

Come,  love,  my  love  ! The  honk- 
bird  calls 

Away  from  city  streets  and  walls 
To  rural  stream  and  mead. 
Youth’s  gay  abandon  in  the  blood, 
We’ll  saunter  forth  by  field  and 
wood 

At  fifty  h.  p.  speed ! 

Or,  love,  my  love,  if  haply  you 
Some  newer  curves  prefer  to  do, 
My  duoplane  I’ll  bring. 

And,  rivaling  the  sylvan  elves, 
We’ll  do  some  Ariel  tyrns  our- 
selves, 

This  jocund  morn  of  Spring! 

— Frederick  Moxon. 

The  world  exacts  exorbitant 
space  rates  of  advertised  Virtue. 


Womanly  Intuition. 

Mrs.  Flatleigh  — “The  new 
family  upstairs  have  a lot  of 
money,  but  they  used  to  be  very 
poor  and  ordinary.” 

Mr.  Flatleigh  — “How  do  you 
know?  Have  you  called  on 
them?” 

Mrs.  Flatleigh — “No ; but  there 
was  a half-eaten  broiled  lobster 
and  a whole  Camembert  cheese 
in  their  garbage  can  on  the  dumb 
waiter  this  morning.”. 

A Soft  Answer. 

He  (triumphantly,  reading 
from  a newspaper) — “‘Suffra- 
gist speaker  heckled  by  geese  at 
a county  fair.’  Ha,  ha!  Even 
the  geese  are  against  woman  suf- 
rage,  my  dear!” 

She  (contemptuously) — 
“That’s  because  they  are 
THE  WHOLE  WORLD  TO  THEMSELVES.  geese.” 


A Leap-year  Man  to  His  Father. 

Coteswold-in-the-Hills. 
F'VEAR  FATHER— When  you  pawned 
the  last  piece  of  the  family  plate 
in  order  that  I might  be  suitably  ap- 
pareled for  the  Van  Dyrck’s  house  party, 
I realized  that  something  must  be  done. 
I did  it. 

Last  night,  in  a dim-lit  corner  of  the 
conservatory,  Senatoress  Bardick  laid 
her  name  and  fortune  at  my  feet.  The 
sudden  relaxation  was  too  much  for  my 
overwrought  nerves;  I cried  a little,  and 
she  took  me  in  her  arms 
and  kissed  the  tears  away, 
believing  that  I wept  with 
happiness. 

Though  the  Senatoress — 

Betty  sounds  too  familiar 
— is  more  than  twice  my 
age,  she  is  hale  and  hearty 
and  very  distinguished  in 
appearance.  Also  she  is 
brainy,  chivalrous,  and  has 
a reputation  for  clean-liv- 
ing almost  as  good  as  that 
which  she  would  demand  of 
the  man  she  married.  Ru- 
mor says  that  she  was  per- 
fectly lovely  to  her  first 
husband — that  he  never  had 
a wish  ungratified.  At 
love-making,  the  younger 
women  are  miles  behind 
her.  Gallant,  solicitous  of 
my  comfort,  exquisitely 
tender  in  her  expressions 
of  sentiment,  she  gauges 
my  moods  so  accurately 
that  she  is  never  too  ar- 
dent, nor  yet  too  cold.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  I 
fell  in  love  with  her. 

While  we  have  not  set- 
tled everything  yet,  the 
Senatoress  has  promised 
that  I shall  not  have  any 
domestic  or  paternal  cares. 

We  are  to  live  at  the  Scal- 
dorf-Wastorious,  and  travel 
as  much  as  her  official  duties  will  permit. 
She  is  to  settle  a million  dollars  upon 
me,  and  I am  to  retain  my  latch-key  and 
as  much  liberty  as  the  conventions  sanc- 
tion. She  solemnly  promises  not  to  be 
jealous,  as  old  wives  usually  are  of  their 
young  husbands. 

I’m  sure  she  will  be  good  and  kind  to 
me,  and  I shall  make  her  a dutiful  hus- 
band. So  we  ought  to  be  happy. 

Good-night,  dad.  You  can  have 
sweeter  dreams,  now  that  my  future  is 
assured.  Your  affectionate  son, 

Percy. 


Caught  It. 

One  evening  last  week,  when  I called  on 
Babette, 

I found  her  with  whooping  cough  badly 
upset. 

She  said,  “It’s  unpleasant,  now,  take  it 
from  me!” 

I did — and  I’m  whooping  this  morning, 
you  see. 

A Good  Reason. 

Jab— “Why  do  they  call  this  brand  of 
buttons  ‘Old  Maid’s  Wedding’?” 

Dab — “Because  they  never  come  off.” 


Another  Line  of  Business. 

“For  years  and  years  I wrote  poetry,” 
remarked  the  affluent-looking  stranger. 
“I  wrote  it  until  I was  forced  by  cold 
and  hunger  to  take  up  a commercial 
line.” 

“What  was  that?” 

“Writing  verses.” 

Careless. 

He  thought  his  little  gift  would  please. 

It  only  made  her  sore — 

He  hadn’t  taken  off  this  tag, 

“From  five  and  ten  cent  store.” 


Presenting  the  Pessimist. 

By  CHARLES  C.  JONES. 

The  pessimist  is  a serious  sort  of 
person.  He  attends  all  funerals  in  spir- 
it— even  as  the  little  old  woman  in  the 
black  bonnet  and  shawl  attends  them 
in  person.  He  proclaims  to  anybody 
who  will  listen  that  the  coroner  has  sat 
upon  hope,  and  that  hope  is  deader  than 
Pokeville  on  Sunday  afternoon.  Yet, 
in  the  gloomy  shadow  of  the  belief  that 
there  is  no  more  hope,  he  hopes  for  the 
worst.  He  is  the  acme  of  inconsistency. 

If  any  pessimist  ever 
managed  to  get  by  Saint 
Peter — who  was  himself  a 
pessimistof  parts  upon  one 
occasion,  but  refuses  to 
crow  over  it — he  would 
kick  because  the  light  from 
his  halo  hurt  his  eyes.  It 
is  also  probable  that  many 
pessimists  complain  of  too 
much  light  in  the  other  port 
of  missing  men. 

The  pessimist  is  sure 
that  love  is  a delusion  and 
bitter  to  the  taste.  He  is 
just  as  sure  that  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  love;  yet 
he  is,  and  has  always  been, 
in  love— with  himself. 

There  never  was  a sin- 
cere, consistent  pessimist; 
because,  if  any  pessimist 
be  sincere  enough  to  be 
consistent,  he  discovers  im- 
mediately that  he  cannot 
be  a proper  pessimist  with- 
out being  optimistic  about 
the  possibilities  of  pessim- 
ism. When  this  happens, 
the  pessimist  ties  his  face 
in  a hard  knot  and  looks 
over  his  shoulder  to  see  if 
anybody  caught  him  at  it. 

In  other  words,  a pessim- 
ist is  an  optimist  who  is 
afraid  to  laugh  at  himself. 

Watered  Stock. 

“Yes,  I was  once  a member  of  a stock 
company  that  was  put  out  of  business  in 
rather  a curious  way.” 

“How  did  it  happen?” 

“We  had  put  on  a tank  drama,  and 
one  night  the  tank  burst,  nearly  drown- 
ing everybody  on  the  stage.” 

“Another  case  of  too  much  watering 
of  the  stock,  eh?” 

It  is  rumored  that  the  little  German 
babies  call  for  their  “mudder”  and 
“fodder”  at  the  same  time. 


HOPE  SPRINGS  ETERNAL. 

Flora — “ I am  positive  George  loves  me  and  intends  to  make  me 
his  wife.” 

Dora—"  Why  ? Has  he  proposed  yet  ?” 

Flora — “No;  but  he  dislikes  mother  more  every  time  he  sees 
her.” 


MADE  AN  ENEMY. 

Bachelor — “ There  goes  the  Rev.  Hitchem  ; know  him  ?”  Benedict — '*  Not  since  he  married  me  to  my  present  wife.1' 


A Dramatic  Critic’s  Confession. 


Looking  on  the  Bright  Side. 


I’M  A CRITIC  of  the  drama. 

I The  absorbing  panorama 
On  the  stage  enacted  nightly  do  I wit- 
ness sans  expense. 

Sometimes  sadly,  sometimes  gayly, 
I review  them  in  my  daily. 

It  is  mine  to  make  or  break  them — I’m 
a man  of  consequence. 

If  I’ve  had  a royal  dinner, 

I am  apt  to  dub  a winner 
The  show  that  I attend  that  night,  no 
matter  what  it’s  worth; 

But  if  pained  with  indigestion, 
There  is  very  little  question 
But  what  my  criticism  will  of  mercy 
show  a dearth. 

I’m  a man  of  moods  a-plenty, 

I possess  eighteen  or  twenty, 

And  so  I’m  not  responsible  for  many 
things  I say; 

But  my  catchy  style  of  writing 
Is  satirical  and  biting, 

And  people  like  to  read  my  stuff,  though 
brickbat  or  bouquet. 

So  I boost  ’em  and  I roast  ’em, 

And  the  public — well,  I post  ’em. 
Each  word  I say  they  swallow,  and  ac- 
cordingly they  act. 

Managerial  ensemble 
Do  I cause  to  fear  and  tremble 
(And  sometimes  they  approach  me  with 
diplomacy  and  tact). 


But  I’m  mostly  on  the  level. 

And  in  raising  hob  I revel ; 

I love  to  crowd  the  theaters,  or  empty 
them,  at  will. 

And  I’ll  make  this  revelation — 

It’s  my  own  great  reputation 
That  is  first  to  be  considered.  And  my 
conscience?  It  is  nil. 

— Knarf  Rtmlaf. 


NO  DESSERT. 

Guest — “ When  was  this  chicken  killed  ?" 
Waiter — “ We  don’t  furnish  dates  with 
chickens,  sir.  Only  bread  and  butter." 


“George,"  she  cried,  putting  her 
arms  around  his  neck  and  sobbing  upon 
his  breast,  “something  awful  has  hap- 
pened !’’ 

“There,  dear,  don’t  worry!”  he  re- 
plied, patting  her  tenderly  on  the  cheek. 
“What  is  the  trouble?” 

“The  judge  has  decided 
that  my  former  husband  is  to 
have  possession  of  the  chil- 
dren.” 

“Never  mind,  dearie.  Think  cf  the 
joke  it  will  be  on  his  wife!” 

There ’s  a Reason. 

Coy — “How  few  people  attended  the 
funeral  of  Dr.  Pillman!” 

Roy — “Well,  they  do  say  that  most  of 
his  patients  went  before  him.” 

A Table  d’Hote  Dinner. 

Now,  one  fine  day,  young  Tommy  A. 

Took  Mamie  R.  to  dine. 

Each  appetite  was  keen,  oh,  quite ! 

And  everything  was  fine. 

Tom  still  ate  steak  when  May  had 
reached 

Her  demi-tasse  cup. 

Now,  say,  how  long  d’you  think  it  took 
For  Tomatoketchup?  — cr«, 


BLIND  TO  THE  WORLD. 

A moment’s  respite  from  the  pressure  of  business. 


Keeping  People  Guessing. 

AM  not  a candidate. ” 

“But,  colonel,”  I protested,  “I 
don’t  give  a rap  whether  you  are  a can- 
didate or  not;  I want  to  know  whether 
you  will  be  one. ” 

“Great  Scott!”  he  retorted,  with  evi- 
dent displeasure.  “Haven’t  I told  you 
plainly  that  I am  not  a candidate?” 

One  Better. 

Nip — “Bones  is  speaker  of  the  house, 
and  only  thirty !” 

Tuck — “That’s  nothing ! My  wife  be- 
came speaker  of  the  house  as  soon  as  I 
married  her,  and  she  was  only  twenty- 
two.” 

Debutante  (being  introduced) — “Par- 
don me!  Is  it  Miss  or  Mrs.  de  Long?” 

Old  maid — “Miss — by  choice.” 


Pastoral  Limericks. 

A maiden  yclept  Adelaide 
To  climb  up  a peach  tree  essayed; 

I chanced  to  be  there, 

And  I really  declare 
That  a very  good  showing  she  made. 

Another  one,  known  as  Hortense, 
Attempted  to  sca]e  a high  fence. 

I was  passing  that  way. 

And  I really  must  say 
She  displayed  very  poor  common  sense. 

A 

A lady’s  red  skirt  was  turned  toward 
A bull  who  terrific’ly  roared; 

I saw  it,  did  I, 

And  remarked  with  a sigh, 

“That  skirt  will  be  beautifully  gored!” 

A 

A lady,  decidedly  fat, 

In  a hammock  contentedly  sat. 

I was  motoring  by, 

And  this  comment  made  1, 

“There  is  really  quite  something  in 
that!”  -c.g.g. 


He  Got  a Job. 

Editor — “You  seem  to  think  that,  be- 
cause you  were  the  champion  hammer- 
thrower  at  college,  you  could  fit  into  a 
magazine  office.  Why  not  try  a black- 
smith shop?” 

Applicant — “I  thought  you  might 
need  me  to  help  throw  the  poets  down- 
stairs. ” 

Fountain  of  Youth. 

Lovely  woman  is  resourceful ; 

When  she  finds  she’s  badly  mated, 

She  hastens  to  Nevada, 

Comes  back  happy,  Keno-vated. 

Impractical. 

Coombs— “He  is  a very  ingenious  in- 
ventor.” 

A allins — “But  exceedingly  imprac- 
tical. His  last  creation  is  an  automatic 
safety  attachment  for  an  electric  chair.  ” 


LEAP! 


\ R . 


STAGE 


CHRISTINE  NIELSEN. 

in  '*  The  Wedding  Trip/* 

Merry  maid  of  many  wiles. 

We  like  your  ways,  we  like  your 
smiles. 

This  trip,  of  which  we  'vc  heard  so 
much. 

Has  surely  gotten  you  in  " Dutch.” 


FOLKS  WE  ADMIRE 


LILLIAN  LORRAINE. 

(With  Eddie  Foy,  in  “ Over  the  River.”) 

I.illic.  a source  of  unending  delight. 
Bewitching  of  figure,  as  spry  as  a sprite 
*Twixt  you  and  your  charge  there  *s  no 
difference  at  all. 

For  you  arc  yourself  a most  beautiful 
doll. 


SALI.IE  FISHER. 

in  **  Modest  Suzanne  ” 

A winner  arc  vou,  modest  Saltic, 
With  checks  like  the  rose  of  the  val- 
ley ; , 

In  the  matter  of  fun 
You  ’re  a hit  and  a run. 

In  fact,  a home  run  and  a tally. 


ANN  MURDOCK. 

in  “ Excuse  Me." 

No  need  to  ask  ” How  old  is  Ann  ?” 
Your  youth  doth  quite  enthuse  me. 
That  coal-black  hair  and  profile  rare 
Fill  me  with —oh,  excuse  me  1 


IN  PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS. 


I’VE  taken  my  lore  where  I’ve  found  it; 

I’ve  read  an’  I’ve  ranged  in  my  time ; 
I’ve  ’ad  my  pickin’  o’  poets, 

An’  four  o’  the  lot  was  prime. 

One  was  in  Sufi  apparel, 

One  was  a club-footed  Beau, 

One  was  a parson  named  Carroll, 

An’  one  is  a man  I know. 

Now,  I aren’t  no  ’and  with  the  poets, 
For,  takin’  it  all  along, 

You  can’t  write  like  them  till  you’ve 
tried  it, 

An’  then  you  are  like  to  be  wrong. 
There’s  times  when  you’ll  think  you’re 
a genius, 

There’s  times  when  you’ll  know  as 
you’re  not; 

But  the  things  you  can  lift  as  their 
pages  you  sift 

Will  ’elp  you  along  quite  a lot! 

I was  a young  ’un  at  writin’, 

Shy  as  a kid  to  begin; 

A poet  named  Flynx  got  me  goin’, 

An’  Flynxy  was  clever  as  sin. 

Then  I fell  in  with  R.  Browning — 

Some  of  ’is  meanin’s  was  dim — 

But  ’e  came  up  to  time  with  ’is  rhythm 
an’  rhyme, 

An’  I learned  about  writin’  from  ’im. 

Then  I run  up  against  Shakespeare  — 

'E  wrote  quite  jolly,  I thought; 

They  called  ’im  a bard,  an’  I studied  ’im 
’ard, 

Till  some  tricks  of  ’is  trade  I had 
caught. 

Kipling  was  also  some  useful, 

An’  Pope,  though  ’is  poems  was  prim; 
But  the  way  was  more  clear  when  I 
piped  Edward  Lear, 

An’  I learned  about  writin’  from  ’im. 

Then,  next,  I grew  sort  o’  romantic — 
Yearned  ’long  o’  Shelley  an’  Keats; 
Jes’  fairly  wallowed  in  Swinburne — 
Reeled  off  the  drivel  in  sheets. 


The  Poets. 

(With  compliments  to  Mr.  Kipling.) 

By  CAROLYN  IVBLLS. 

Come  ’long  a feller  named  Dobson — 

He  knew  how  to  tinker  an’  trim! 

An’  another  man  came — we  won’t  mind 
’is  name — 

But  I learned  about  writin’  from 
’im. 

I’ve  taken  my  lines  where  I’ve  found 
’em, 

I’ve  ravaged  my  favorite  shelf; 

But  the  more  you  ’ave  loved  of  the 
others, 

The  less  you  will  care  for  yourself. 


UNDER  DURESS. 

He — “ I often  kissed  you  when  you  were  a 
baby." 

She “ Well,  I couldn’t  help  myself  then." 


An’  the  end  of  it’s  sittin’  an’  scribblin' 

An’  dreamin’  of  great  things  to  be; 

So  be  warned  by  my  lot  (which  I know 
you  will  not), 

An’  learn  about  writin’  from  me. 

What  did  the  editor  gentleman  think? 

Nobody  never  knew. 

Somebody  asked  the  office  girl, 

An’  she  told  ’em  true. 

When  you  get  to  a pome  in  the  case, 

They’re  like  as  a row  o’  pins — 

For  Mr.  John  Milton  an’  a spring  poet 
liltin’ 

Are  brothers  under  their  skins. 

Back  to  Childhood,  Nit! 

A member  of  Congress  from  Ohio — 
nameless  here  by  request — was  com- 
plaining about  his  health. 

“What’s  the  matter?”  inquired  a 
friend. 

“Oh,  I don’t  know.  I’m  nervous,  I 
guess,  and  I have  the  worst  kind  of  time 
getting  to  sleep  when  I go  to  bed.” 

“Why  don’t  you  try  the  childhood 
method  of  counting  sheep  as  they  jump 
the  fence?  That  will  put  you  to  sleep,, 
all  right.” 

“I’ve  tried  it,  and  it  won’t  work.” 

“Why  not?” 

“Well,  you  see,  just  as  soon  as  I be- 
gin to  count  the  sheep  I get  to  thinking 
about  Schedule  K,  and  then  sleep  is  out 
of  the  question.  Give  me  an  easier 
one.  ” 

About. 

“What  did  Gabbley  talk  about,  at 
the  banquet  last  night?” 

“It  seemed  about  three  hours.” 


C.  G.  NOSTERRAG,  Chief  of  Detectives. 


[Since  the  institution  of  this  department,  we  have  been 
overrun  with  requests  to  undertake  the  solution  of  public 
and  private  mysteries.  We  must  draw  the  line  somewhere, 
so  would  state  that  we  shall  not  restore  lost  husbands,  find 
mates  for  spinsters,  or  attempt  to  point  out  those  guilty 
of  bringing  about  the  high  cost  of  living.  We  shall  here- 
after confine  ourselves  to  laying  bare  the  secrets  of  the  cap- 
tains of  industry,  politics,  literature,  and  scandal,  and  feel 
sure  that  if  we  do  this  thoroughly  the  entire  time  of  our 
able  corps  will  be  utilized.] 

CASE  No.  $100,000,000 — Not  a member  of  the  Socialist 
party.  Commenced  life  without  a cent  in  his  pocket,  April 

7th,  1837.  Soon 
had  to  have  ac- 
cord  io  n-pleated 
extensions  built  in 
all  his  trousers. 
Was  never  known 
to  make  any  mon- 
ey, as  he  preferred 
to  let  others  make 
it  for  him.  Has 
always  suffered 
from  the  disease 
of  reorganization- 
itis,  having  reor- 
ganized every- 
thing from  Sunday 
schools  to  a b i 1 - 
lion-dollar  steel 
corporation.  Can  ride  for  nothing  on  fifty  thousand  miles  of 
railroads  and  fifty-seven  different  varieties  of  steamship 
lines.  The  only  work  he  has  ever  done  has  been  in  the  iine 
of  collecting  furniture,  pictures,  books,  rugs,  and  other  sec- 
ond-hand chattels.  Much  of  this  merchandise  he  has  stored 
in  the  American  Museum  of  Natural  History,  Metropolitan 
Museum,  and  other  fireproof  buildings.  He  could  sell  these 
things  in  any  good  second-hand  store  or  pawnshop,  but  does 
not  seem  to  need  the  money.  Some  time 
ago  he  built  a large  hospital  in  New  York, 
but,  finding  that  he  had  no  personal  use 
for  it,  he  presented  it  to  the  public.  He 
saved  up  during  an  entire  year  and 
bought  a yacht,  with  which  he  won  a spa- 
cious cup,  an  ornamental  receptacle  that 
is  convenient  in  any  household.  This  serv- 
ice has  shadowed  him  for  some  time  and 
found  him  sober,  honest  and  a very  pres- 
ent help  to  his  country  in  time  of  trouble. 

CASE  No.  71265  — Nationality, 

Scotch.  Occupation,  steel  and  philan- 
thropy. Hobbies,  golf,  libraries,  peace, 
and  repartee.  Why  Judge’s  bureau 
should  have  been  employed  to  shadow 


this  case  is  a mystery.  He  has  never  had  his  picture  in  the 
rogue’s  gallery,  nor  has  he  been  apprehended  in  any  crime 
more  serious  than  occasional  assaults  on  the  risibilities  of 
grand  jury  investigators.  His  ambition  to  die  poor  may  be 
looked  upon  as  a species  of  insanity,  but  it  is  of  a harmless 
type.  By  working  evenings  this  busy  man  has  succeeded  in 
writing  a number  of  books,  and,  contrary  to  precedent,  he 
had  no  trouble  in  finding  a publisher  for  the  first  one.  These 
books  may  be  found  on  the  shelves  of  nearly  all  our  public 
libraries,  and  feather  dusters  or  vacuum  cleaners  will  be 
furnished  by  the  attendants.  His  attempts  to  ruin  the  gun- 
powder industry 
are  looked  upon 
with  disfavor  by 
the  manufacturers 
of  that  commodi- 
ty, and  they  may 
have  been  the 
source  of  the  order 
for  this  investiga- 
tion, as  it  was  re- 
ceived  anony- 
mously. 

CASE  No.  8654 
— This  man  first 
began  to  make 
trouble  in  Prim- 
rose, Wis.,  in  1855. 

During  the  first  year  of  his  life  he  yelled  and  found  fault  con- 
stantly, and  he  has  been  at  it  continually  ever  since.  He  was 
found  guilty  of  having  a father  named  Josiah,  but  it  was 
proved  later  that  this  crime  was  unpremeditated.  He  dis- 
liked hard  work,  so  took  up  law.  Later  he  fell  still  lower 
and  became  a politician.  Having  taken  a course  in  manual 
training  when  a youth,  he  made  himself  useful  by  helping  to 
frame  the  McKinley  bill.  He  did  a very  artistic  job  and 
obtained  special  mention  in  his  home 
paper.  Later  he  was  sentenced  to  the 
capitol  of  Wisconsin,  where  he  served  a 
term  of  seven  years,  being  released  in 
1905  for  good  behavior,  and  at  once 
broke  into  the  Senate  at  Washington. 
The  Senate  took  his  little  joke  good-na- 
turedly and  taught  him  to  do  clever 
tricks  for  their  amusement.  In  1908  he 
had  a narrow  escape  from  being  nomina- 
ted for  President.  This  experience  af- 
fected him  strangely,  causing  him  to 
commit  his  most  serious  offense,  that  of 
giving  public  concerts  with  the  aid  of 
his  own  horn.  This  agency  is  attempt- 
ing to  have  him  placed  under  bonds  to 
keep  the  peace. 


LITTLE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  AS  HE  REALLY  WAS. 

JUDGE’S  Detective  Bureau  has  made  a startling  discovery.  This  picture  was  stolen  early  in  the  eighteenth  century  from  a famous  gallery  in  Philadelphia, 
showing  that  the  art  of  taking  pictures  from  galleries  was  perfected  at  that  early  date.  It  has  recently  been  restored  by  the  eminent  sleuth,  M.  Emil  Flohri, 
at  great  trouble  and  expense.  The  portrait  proves  conclusively  the  truth  of  the  cherry-tree  episode,  and  vindicates  the  authors  of  the  ten  thousand  cherry- 

tree  and  hatchet  jokes  that  have  appeared  in  JuDCE  during  the  last  quarter  century. 


LESSONS  IN 


FIG.  II. 


FIG.  IV. 


UNNATURAL  HISTORY. 


The  Monkey. 

'"T'HE  MONKEY  is  a comical-looking  specimen  of  an  ani- 
A mal,  although  probably  a monkey  doesn’t  look  any 
more  foolish  to  us  than  we  do  to  a monkey.  (See  Fig.  I.) 
A real  monkey  is  born,  not  made;  but  sometimes  we  see  a 
woman  make  a monkey  out  of  a man.  It  is  a matter  of 
pride  with  the  monkey  family  that  the  human  race  is 
supposed  to  have  descended  from  it — a proof  that  the  mon- 
key is  on  a higher  plane  than  the  man.  Monkeys  can  do 
nearly  everything  a man  can,  but  most  of  them  have  better 
sense  than  to  try.  (See  Fig.  II.)  They  are  philanthropic 
creatures  and  have  been  known  to  raise  large  sums  of  money 
in  the  interest  of  Italian  music.  They  seem  to  have  a great 
sympathy  for  that  class  of  travelers  whose  life  is  a constant 
grind,  and  are  often  bound  to  them  by  strong  ties.  (See 
Fig.  III.)  Every  child  ought  to  know  that  a monkey  is  an 
anthropoidian,  quadrumanous  mammal,  and  that  the  Old 
World  monkeys,  either  simids  or  cercopithecids,  are  catai-- 
rhine.  If  you  remember  this,  you  will  be  able  to  distin- 
guish between  the  different  brands  of  monkeys  at  a glance. 
A female  monkey  chatters  twice  as  fast  as  a male.  (See 
Fig.  IV.)  This  is  said  by  some  to  be  one  of  the  chief 
proofs  of  the  soundness  of  the  Darwinian  theory.  MonkeyS 
are  fond  of  nuts  and  will  bolt  them  down  eagerly.  For  this 
reason,  perhaps,  the  useful  device  called  the  monkey  wrench 
was  named  after  them.  (See  Fig.  V.)  Monkeys  are  some- 
times entertained  by  fashionable  people  at  dinners,  where 
they  may  be  distinguished  from  the  other  guests  by  the  fact 
that  they  do  not  make  foolish  remarks.  (See  Fig.  VI.) 
Knowing  these  things  about  monkeys,  children,  you  will  be 
able  to  pick  them  out  from  among  the  other  animals  at 
the  zoo,  provided  the  keepers  will  allow  you  to  do  so.  (See 
Fig.  VII.)  — Carleton  G.  Garretsou. 


i 


uS 


vT(l  H'v  a 'it 


FIG.  V. 


FIG.  III. 


FIG.  VI. 


FIG.  VII. 


Father  s Definition. 

t<\  TOW  that  you  have  seen  the  error  of 
* ' your  ways,  ” said  the  young  man’s 
father,  “I  hope  that  you  will  decide 
upon  a new  course.” 

‘‘Oh,  yes,  I’ve  made  up  my  mind  to 
do  that.” 

‘‘Well,  what  do  you  propose  to  do 
first?” 

‘‘I  thought  I might  make  a good  be- 
ginning by  getting  you  to  let  me  have 
about  a hundred  dollars.” 

‘‘That  isn’t  a beginning.  It’s  the 
limit.  ” 

Heredity. 

‘‘I  knew  her  father  when  he  used  to 
go  about  with  his  trousers  held  up  by 
one  suspender.” 

‘‘She  must  take  after  him,  then.” 
‘‘Why  so?” 

‘‘At  the  opera,  last  night,  she  wore  a 
gown  that  was  held  up  by  one  strap, 
over  her  left  shoulder.” 

A Bi 

THE  CHERRY. 

'T'HE  CHERRY  is  a very  decent  little 
fruit,  said  to  have  evolutea  from 
the  prune— something  that  it  was  per- 
fectly justified  in  doing.  A Roman 
named  Lucullus  discovered  the  cherry 
when  it  was  not  doing  very  well,  and 
introduced  it  into  Europe,  where  it  im- 
mediately bucked  up  and  became  re- 
spectable. One  branch  of  the  cherry 
family  insists  on  being  wild  and  has  a 
penchant  (pronounced  pawn  chaw)  for 
Manhattan  cocktails.  You  can  sober  up 
a Manhattan  cherry  by  hanging  it  in  the 
sun  and  letting  it  dry  for  a few  weeks. 
After  this  treatment  it  should  be  fed  to 
the  chickens,  as  the  children  will  not 
care  for  it.  Those  who  contemplate 
propagating  cherries  in  window  boxes 
should  choose  a deep,  light,  loarny  soil 
and  a southern  exposure.  After  the 
tree  has  been  planted  for  a year,  cut 
hack  each  branch  to  about  one  foot  in 
length.  Encourage  surface  rootings  by 
top  dressings,  preferably  French  or 
mayonnaise.  If  the  cherries  prove  to  be 
choke  cherries,  you  should  drive  the  tree 
back  into  the  window  box  with  a large 
wooden  mallet  and  speak  harshly  to  the 
florist  who  sold  you  the  bulbs.  Never 
attack  your  cherry  tree  with  a hatchet, 
as  this  act  would  result  in  your  being 
accused  of  plagiarism.  When  the  tree 
gets  one  hundred  feet  high,  it  should  be 


Qualified. 

‘‘The  man  I marry,!’  she  said,  making 
no  effort  to  conceal  the  fact  that  she 
considered  herself  a patrician,  “must 
have  a family  back  of  him.” 

“Oh,  I can  fulfill  that  requirement  all 
right,”  he  confidently  replied.  “I’ve 
gone  away  ahead  of  any  of  my  rela- 
tives.” 

New  to  Him. 

After  he  had  tried  for  a moment  to 
get  his  key  inserted  in  the  keyhole,  he 
stepped  back  and  leaned  against  the  side 
of  the  vestibule.  Then  he  scratched  his 
head  in  perplexity  and  said, 

“It’sh  shtrange!  I never  knew  be- 
fore that  we  had  one  of  theshe  revolvin’ 
doorsh  here.” 

“Pretty  close  figurer?” 

“I  should  say  so!  She  tried  to  get 
trading  stamps  with  her  Red  Cross 
seals.” 


By  CARLETON  G.  GARRETSON. 

removed  from  the  window  box,  as  it  will 
obstruct  the  view  of  the  families  up- 
stairs and  perhaps  cause  them  to  criti- 
cise you  to  the  janitor.  Candied  cher- 


ries are  fashionable  confections  appre- 
ciated only  by  the  manufacturers.  The 
cherry  is  best  when  perfectly  raw. 
When  done  up  in  a pie,  both  the  pie  and 


Tom  and  Puss. 

Dorothy  was  the  sister  and  Freddie 
was  the  brother,  but  the  order  should 
have  been  reversed  to  have  satisfied  the 
characters  of  the  two  children,  for  Dor- 
othy was  a scream,  while  Freddie  was 
only  a whisper. 

“Gracious,  Dorothy!”  exclaimed  a 
visitor,  after  one  of  her  audacious  ath- 
letic stunts.  “You  ought  to  be  a boy!” 
“1  am  boy,”  she  replied  proudly;  “a 
regular  tomboy!  Mamma  says  so. ” 
“But  Freddie  is  the  boy  of  the  fam- 
ily.” 

“Well,”  she  sniffed  in  scorn,  “if  he 
is,  he’s  only  a pussy  boy.” 

— William  J.  Lampion. 

The  Reason. 

On  Nineteen  Eleven  we  look  with  regret, 
For  Nineteen  Twelve’s  but  a youngster 
yet. 

Every-day  Buy  Words. 

“What  is  it  worth?” 


the  cherry  are  ruined.  Maraschino 
cherries  are  of  foreign  extraction  and 
are  interchangeable  at  par  with  gold 
nuggets,  eggs,  and  other  valuable  curi- 
osities. The  class  should  now  be  able 
to  tell  a cherry,  both  anywhere  and  any- 
thing. Bibliography,  any  good  unex- 
purgated life  of  Washington. 

The  following  sonnetine  may  be  used 
with  telling  effect  as  a toast  in  the 
early  stages  of  a banquet.  You  have 
the  permission  of  the  author  to  state 
that  you  composed  it  yourself.  In  fact, 
the  author  dares  you  to  so  state. 

Oh,  cherry,  in  my  cocktail  deep  im- 
mersed, 

I’d  hate  to  be  as  pickled  as  thou  art! 

I fear  my  power  of  speaking  would 
depart 

And  I’d  appear,  forsooth,  quite  at  my 
worst. 

But,  cherry,  as  I look  at  thee,  I think 

How  thou  hast  done  a kindly  turn  to 

me- — - 

Thou  takest  space  that  otherwise 
would  be 

Booze-filled,  thus  tempering  my  drink. 

They  tell  me  thou  art  going  out  of  style. 

That  folks  of  late  prefer  their  cock- 
tails dry 

And  cherryless.  Let  them  thus 
choose,  but  I 

Will  still  prefer  thee  swimming  in  my 
“smile.” 

Oh,  cherry,  though  thou  hast  a stony 
heart, 

I’m  very  prone  to  take  thee  as  thou  art. 


t of  Batty  Botany. 





WHEN  VELMA  READS. 

When  Velma  reads  the  printed  page 
Her  thoughts  are  flying  here  and  there  ; 

For  hers,  forsooth’s,  the  flighty  age — 

Her  mind  is  everywhere, 

When  Velma  reads  of  course  she  thinks. 

Though  little  of  her  open  book — 

She  dreams  of  dances,  skating-rinks, 

Of  drive  and  quiet  nook. 

When  Velma  reads  the  thought-waves  rise 
In  telepathic  symphony. 

And  each  wave  like  a love-bird  flies, 

Through  barren  space  to  me. 

When  Velma  reads!  Oh,  fairest  boon! 

Her  thoughts  with  happiness  are  rife, 
But  she  ’ll  give  up  her  reading  soon. 
For  she’s  to  be  my  wife.  — C.  G.  G. 


LITTLE  TRAGEDIES  OF  EVERYDAY  LIFE. 


Fascination.  Solemnization.  _ Dissipation.  Separation. 


Mail. 


Trail. 


Nail. 


Jail. 


Infatuation. 


Osculation. 


Consternation. 


Constellation. 


The  Good  Saint  s Day. 

^^IRCUMSTANCES  alter  valentines. 

Sending  only  the  one  girl  a valen- 
tine is  the  best  policy. 

The  ways  of  the  anonymous  valentine 
are  past  finding  out. 

People  who  have  faults  of  their  own 
shouldn't  send  valentines. 

Too  many  valentines  spoil  the  whole 
day  for  us. 

We  are  all  known  by  the  valentines 
we  receive. 

No  man  is  a hero  to  his  valentine. 

It’s  a wise  valentine  that  knows  its 
own  sender. 

The  jilted  man  clutches  at  a valentine. 

Valentines  are  sent  us  to  show  us 
what  hypocrites  we  are. 


The  comic  valentine  covers  a multi- 
tude of  sins. 

A little  valentine  is  a dangerous  thing. 

Send  a comic  valentine  in  haste  and 
repent  at  leisure. 

Beauty  continues  to  be  her  own  best 
valentine. 

We  love  only  once,  but  we  manage  to 
find  a new  girl  to  send  a valentine  to 
every  year. 

The  fool  and  his  valentine  are  soon 
mailed.  — j.  j.  o'Connntii. 

Friend — “Now,  as  I understand  it, 
you  and  I,  instead  of  having  unequal 
wealth,  ought  to  have  just  the  same 
amount.  ” 

Socialist — “Yes  — er — that  is  — how 
much  have  you  got?” 


Valentine  Vagaries. 

Even  comic  valentines  sometimes  are 
humorous. 

Valentines  are  a first  aid  to  weak- 
hearted  suitors. 

On  Valentine  Day  we  see  “oursils  as 
ithers  see  us.” 

Men  have  been  hanged  for  the  per- 
petration of  crimes  far  less  offensive 
than  valentine  verses. 

Delivering  valentines  in  the  stone  age 
must  have  been  a man’s  job. 

It  takes  a comic  valentine  to  pierce 
the  armor  of  dignity.  -vam,  c.  cn„. 

Credit. 

Church  trustee — “Did  you  occupy 
your  last  pulpit  with  credit?” 

New  rector — “Entirely.  There  was 
never  any  cash  connected  with  it.” 


A Future  Financier. 

A VERY  nice  young  man  was  calling 
on  his  sister.  To  make  things  easy, 
he  gave  him  a beautiful  new  penny, 
saying,  “Save  each  penny,  and  soon 
you  will  have  a dollar.” 

“I’ll  soon  have  a dollar!”  re- 
plied the  boy,  with  great  eager- 
ness. 

The  young  man  smiled  good-na- 
turedly, dug  into  his  pocket,  say- 
ing, 

“Well,  just  how  much  more  do 
you  need?” 

“Only  ninety-nine  cents.” 

He  soon  had  a dollar. 

As  Times  Change. 

In  days  gone  by, 

If  I remember  rightly, 

We  danced  like  this, 

And,  oh!  so  lightly! 

But  now,  when  with  a miss, 

,0 


Reform  Needed. 

Benham — “We  need  a reform  in  our 
banking  system.” 

Mrs.  Benham — “Yes;  it’s  a shame 
that  a wife  can’t  overdraw  her  husband’s 
account !” 


A Deadly  Weapon. 

The  laundry  workers  in  New 
York  have  gone  on  strike.  It 
strikes  us  that  this  is  a foolish 
weapon  for  them  to  employ,  when 
they  have  so  much  more  effect- 
ive and  deadly  weapons  within 
their  grasp.  Let  us  suggest  that 
if,  by  previous  agreement,  every 
citizen  of  New  York  found  that 
on  a certain  morning  he  had  to 
put  on  a collar  with  a saw  edge, 
the  laundry  owners  would  find 
themselves  in  the  hands  of  an  outraged 
and  tortured  mob  that  would  fight  the 
workers’  battle  for  them.  Unionism 
could  be  so  much  more  powerful  if  it  ex- 
ercised more  intelligence. 


Of  all  mean  words  we’ll  ever  know, 
The  meanest  are,  “I  told  you  so.” 


THE  CHOICE. 

He — “ Yes,  I ’m  going  to  apply  my  talents : but  I 
know  whether  to  go  in  for  art  or  for  poetry.” 

She — “ Oh,  poetry!” 

He — “ Oh,  you 've  heard  some  of  my  verses  ?” 

She — “ No ; but  I 've  seen  some  of  your  art.” 


Serious. 

“I  would  like  to  marry  your  daugh- 
ter, sir.  I realize  that  this  is  a serious 
matter” 

“You  bet  it  is,  my  son  ! Very  serious! 
You  may  have  her,  and  the  Lord  be 
with  you !” 


Not  as  Recommended. 

Uncle  Eben — “You  can  take  this  old 
camera  back.” 

Dealer — “What  is  the  matter  with 
it?” 

Uncle  Eben — “It’s  a fake.  You  told 
me  I could  take  my  own  pictures 
with  it,  and  I’ve  snapped  it  over 
fifty  times  and  it  hasn’t  got  a pic- 
ture of  me  yet.” 

Jimpsy  Tales. 

I.— HURT  TIME. 

When  Jimpsy  has  the  colic. 
Then  his  soul  begins  to 
Quake ! 

It’s  awful  for  a baby 
When  he  has  a tummy- 
Ache ! 

He  howls  like  forty  kittens. 

And  he  doubles  up  his 
Fists ! 

He  wants  to  go  to  mother. 

And  he  wiggles  and  he 
Twists ! 

But  when  the  storm  is  over 
And- the  peppermint  is 
Down, 

He  is  just  the  nicest  baby. 

And  the  merriest  in 
Town ! 

Lifelike. 

Ted — “I'm  going  to  send  that 
old  girl  of  mine  a valentine  —some- 
thing that  depicts  her  in  her  true 
colors.  ” 

Ned — “From  what  I’ve  seen  of 
her,  you’d  better  get  one  of  those 
hand-painted  ones.” 

An  Ounce  of  Prevention. 

Divorce  is  reprehensible. 

And  so  is  alimony ; 

Yet  both  can  be  prevented  by 
Avoiding  matrimony. 


don’t 


The  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man- 
in  the  very  loudest  of  tones.  - 


THREE  ZEROS  IN  A LINE. 

(Drawn  with  a ting1*  line.) 


TO  A MISER. 

Fairest  queen  of  myriad  hearts. 

Always  taking,  ne’er  returning. 

By  your  many  wiles  and  arts 

Causing  sleepless  nights  of  yearning  ; 

f airest  queen  of  myriad  hearts, 

Held  in  humble  adoration. 

Causing  Cupid  with  his  darts 
Almost  constant  occupation  ; 

Fairest  queen  of  myriad  hearts. 

Quite  devoid  of  imperfection, 

Here  s where  common  sense  departs. 

Pray  add  mine  to  your  collection. 

—C  G.  G. 


>1  •«»>•*, 


l 


DISTORTED  VISION. 

Fred  Clubber  (after  a night  out) — “ Now  I wonder  what  the  deuce  (hie)  they  put  me  in  for?” 


As  You  Like  It. 


A Husbandly  Duty. 


The  Suffragettes’  Mother  Goose. 


If  vou  ever  have  crone  fishing, 
never  & 

You  Wil*  know  ’tis  truth  I say 
won  t J 

When  I make  this  two-edged  statement : 

Big  fish  alwayS  get  away.‘  . 

never  **  a weigh. 

— Louis  Schneider. 


My  wife  cannot  make  dishes  such  as 
mother  used  to  make. 

Most  horrible  concoctions  is  she  daily 
prone  to  bake ! 

And  I try  to  bear  it  manfully,  though 
tears  come  to  my  eyes 

When  I strive  to  penetrate  her  rolls  and 
drink  her  lemon  pies. 


How  Did  They  Do  It? 

Willis — “The  old  pioneers  were  won- 
derful fellows!’’ 

Gillis — “Yes.  Just  think  of  men 
founding  cities  without  an  advertising 
agent  or  even  a slogan!’’ 


Diplomatic. 

“How  did  you  get  your  wife  to  forego 
her  desire  for  that  expensive  evening 
gown?” 

“Told  her  it  was  just  the  thing  a 
plain  woman  needed.” 


By  ALMA  MARTIN. 

Sing  a song  of  suffragettes, 
Stockings  full  of  stones; 

Four  and  twenty  “bobbies” — 
Struggles,  cries,  and  groans. 

When  the  jail  is  open, 

The  girls  begin  to  sing. 

Isn’t  it  a pretty  mess 

For  Parliament  and  King? 

And  then  Engagement  Wes  Broken. 
Geraldine — “Would  you  die  for  me?” 
Gerald — “Do  you  intend  to  be  the 
death  of  me?” 


The  only  thing  of  great  value  of  which 
a man  was  ever  possessed  without  brag- 
ging about  it  is— common  sense. 


Before  Being  Sheared. 

Every  black  sheep  to-day  was  once 
somebody’s  pet  lamb. 


Ted — “So  she’s  very  punctual?” 

Ned — “Why,  it’s  safe  to  call  for  that 
girl  in  a taxi !” 


POLITICAL  POSTERS. 


Judge— “TAKE  IT  FROM  ME,  BILL,  IT’S  A 
CINCH  FOR  YOU  !” 


HE  IS  NOT  A 
CANDIDATE. 


P/  /) 


THE  KATZENJAMMER  KIDS 
OF  POLITICS 


Will  they  get  together  ? 


THE  WHOLE  WORLD  IS  DISCUSSING  WAYS  AND 
MEANS  TO  GET  HIM  DOWN. 


OWNER  SAW  IT  FIRST. 

Noggs — “ That 's  a very  dilapidated  umbrella  you  have  there,  old  man 
Hoggs-  “ You  ’re  right  it  is  ; unfortunately  my  best  one  was  recognized.” 


PROOF  POSITIVE. 

“ Pardon  me,  professor,  but  last  night  your  daughter  accepted  my  proposal  of  marriage.  I have 
called  this  morning  to  ask  you  if  there  is  any  insanity  in  your  family  ?” 

“ There  must  be.” 


Flat  Life. 

THERE  was  an  old  wo- 
man 

Who  lived  in  a shoe, 

And  that  she  was  crowded 
Is  certainly  true. 

She  lived  with  her  children ; 
f But,  even  at  that, 

They  found  it  more  roomy 
Than  many  a flat. 

— George  B.  Staff. 

Domestic  Troubles. 

Husband  — “What’s  the 
matter,  dear?  Why  do  you 
look  so  worried?” 

Wife — “Oh,  I’ve  just  got 
everything  all  ready  for 
Mrs.  Meatleigh’s  visit. 
I’ve  done  up  all  the  curtains 
and  pillowshams  and  bu- 
reau covers  and  center 
pieces,  and  they’re  all  spick 
and  span.” 

Husband  — “Well,  if 
everything  is  in  such  ap- 
ple-pie order,  why  look  so 
disconsolate  about  it?” 

Wife  (bursting  into 
tears)— “Oh,  I just  know, 
as  soon  as  she  sees  them, 
she’ll  know  I cleaned 
everything  all  up  because 
she  was  coming !” 

More  to  the  Purpose. 

Crawford — “I  see  there 
is  a discussion  as  to  the  best 
place  for  a woman  to  keep 
her  money  without  losing 
it.” 

Crabshaw  — “What  wo- 
men need  to  be  taught  is 
how  to  keep  their  money 
without  spending  it.” 

No  Occasion  To  Sigh. 

If  a body  need  a “fiver,” 
Need  a body  sigh. 

When  a body  can  obtain  it 
From  an  easy  guy? 

Almost  Perpetual  Motion. 

“Some  of  these  days,” 
remarked  the  serious  man, 
“I  presume  that  perpetual 
motion  will  be  demonstrat- 
ed.” 

“Well,  if  you  lived  in 
my  flat,”  spoke  up  the 
practical  one,  “you  would 
realize  that  the  family  up- 
stairs comes  about  as  close 
to  it  as  any  one  can  imag- 
ine.” 


Gleefully  the  milk  maids  dance, 
’Tis  a pastoral  truly, 

And  it  is  not  by  simple  chance 
That  the  calves  become  unruly. 


A Misplaced  Delight. 

“There!  That  is  the 
true  way  to  get  inspiration 
from  the  sky  and  the  cloud 
effects !”  said  the  art  teach- 
er, pointing  to  one  of  his 
pupils,  who  was  intently 
looking  upward  from  an 
open  window. 

“Grand!  Isn’t  it?”  he 
whispered,  after  reaching 
the  boy’s  side. 

“Great!”  said  the  stu- 
dent, still  looking  out. 
“Best  spiced  pickles  I ever 
smelt!  Wonder  who’s  cook- 
ing them,  anyway.” 

Rather  Large. 

There  was  a maid  in  our 
town 

Who  was  so  wide  and  fat. 
An  umbrella  o’er  her  head 
Looked  like  a tiny  hat. 

Same  Noise. 

Mrs.  Wayupp — “She  is 
clever?” 

Mrs.  Blase — “Very.  She 
kept  her  infant  three 
months  in  the  Race  Sui- 
cide Apartments  by  telling 
the  landlord  she  owned  a 
grand-opera  phonograph.” 

Shifting  the  Graft. 

“How  do  you  like  run- 
ning your  restaurant  on 
the  no-tipping  plan?” 
“First  rate !”  replied  the 
proprietor.  “It  enables 
me  to  raise  the  prices  ten 
per  cent,  on  the  bill  of 
fare.” 

Getting  Back  at  the  Men. 

Mrs  . Crabshaw — ‘ ‘ My 
husband  says  that  women 
shouldn’t  have  votes  be- 
cause they  wouldn’t  un- 
derstand the  tariff.” 

Mrs.  Dorcas — “You  just 
tell  him  that  the  men  don’t 
seem  to  understand  i t , 
either.  ” 

Human  Nature. 

Crawford — “Do  you  ap- 
prove of  selling  vegetables 
by  weight?” 

Crabshaw — “Yes,  if 
you’d  get  more  that  way.” 


PLAYERS  WE  MEET  ON  THE  RIALTO. 


LILLIAN  RUSSELL'S  LATEST  ENGAGEMENT. 
MAETERLINCK  S WIFE'S  COLOSSAL  COURAGE. 
GABY  DESLYS  AS  A REVOLUTIONIST. 

☆ ☆ 


"\V7HOEVER  saw  a photograph  of  Lil- 
” lian  Russell — at  least  of  the  head 
and  shoulders  of  that  sightly  person — 
that  men  did  not  exclaim  over  or  women 
envy?  Who  that  remembers  her  debut 
at  Tony  Pastor’s  a generation  or  more 
ago  would  imagine  it  is  the  same 
woman?  Then  she  was  slender,  wil- 
lowy, big-eyed,  and  voiced  for  the  suc- 
cess that  has  followed — thanks  in  some 
measure  to  the  camera.  Almost  coin- 
cident the  other  day  with  her  admission 
that  she  would  be  married  again  in  the 
spring  came  the  confession  that  she  is 
fifty  years  old.  Marriage  may  improve 
some  persons  upon  repetition.  At  least 
it  brings  experience  that  can  be  bought 
in  no  other  market.  The  spring  episode 
will  be  Miss  Russell’s  fourth  marital 
venture — and  yet  she  calls  herself  Miss, 
thanks  to  the  easy  fashion  of  the  thea- 
ter. There  is  no  serious  suggestion 
that  the  stage  is  to  lose  her  because  of 
the  new  alliance,  and  she  promises  to 
go  on  spreading  beauty  on  the  public 
vision  and  keeping  strictly  to  herself 
the  means  by  which  she  has  conquered 
time  and  is  conquering  mankind. 


LILLIAN  RUSSELL. 

She  #bll  call#  heraelf  " Mi##,”  in  #pite  of  several 
marital  ventures. 


Who  can  indicate  a greater  foil  to  the 
modesty  of  genius  than  that  furnished 
by  Madam  Maeterlinck,  who  has  come 
to  personify  several  of  her  husband’s 
creations  on  the  operatic  stage  here? 
One  remembers  that  in  Paris  there  were 


MADAM  MAETERLINCK. 

Who  personifies  several  of  her  husband's  creations 
on  the  operatic  stage. 


differences  of  opinion  as  between  the 
producers  of  opera  there  and  this  really 
great  author  as  to  his  wife’s  fitness  to 
originate  some  of  his  roles;  but  perhaps 
that  was  all  due  to  lack  of  managerial 
judgment,  and  her  advent  here  may  jus- 
tify Maeterlinck’s  artistic  notions  of  his 
wife’s  utility.  Surely,  when  a hand- 
some woman  reaches  this  shore  clad  in 
leopards’  skins  and  wearing  a diamond 
on  her  forehead,  who  shall  deny  that  she 
is  a genius? 


And  there  is  Gaby  Deslys,  one  of  the 
world’s  most  potent  socialists,  whose 
favor  turned  a monarchy  into  a republic, 
as  the  story  goes.  There  have  been 
other  women  whose  influence  upon  kings 
and  potentates  has  made  history  and 
rendered  the  making  of  new  maps  of 
sections  of  the  earth  necessary.  Think 
of  the  real  democracy  of  this  latest  im- 
portation of  the  kind  to  this  country, 
shown  in  the  fact  that  all  may  see  her 
for  a standard  price  of  admission! 
There  is  no  present  danger  that  Gaby 
will  turn  this  republic  into  a monarchy, 
although  she  may  turn  some  heads  that 
turn  so  easily  as  to  suggest  rubber  con- 
nection or  ball  bearings.  And  she,  in 
print,  is  telling  women  how  they  may 
be  as  pretty  as  she  confesses  herself  to 
be  in  every  photograph  of  her  yet  pro- 
duced, while  there  is  no  cosmetic  of  real 
value  that  has  not  enlisted  her  propa- 
ganda. Talent?  Real  talent?  Why, 
that  doesn’t  matter  so  much  these  days, 
when  there  is  so  great  a variety  of  other 
things  that  appeal  on  the  stage. 


GABY  DESLYS. 

Whoae  favor  turned  a monarchy  into 
a republic. 


Old  time  wheelman — “ Lazy  brute  !” 


Christopher  Columbus 

By  ELLIS  PARKER  BUTLER,  Author  of  “ Pigs  Is  Pigs.” 


/'■'VN  OCTOBER  12th,  1492,  Christo- 
pher  Columbus  took  his  large, 
forceful  foot  out  of  his  boat  and  set  it 
on  the  beach  of  Guanahani,  one  of  the 
Bahama  Islands,  immediately  putting 
the  other  foot  beside  it,  and  thus  he  be- 
gan the  immigration  problem  which  is 
still  with  us,  although  C.  Columbus  has 
passed  away.  Had  he  waited  but  a few 
short  centuries,  he  could  have  landed  at 
Ellis  Island  and  had  his  teeth  examined 
free  of  charge.  Truly,  haste  makes 
waste. 

C.  Colon,  as  his  neighbors  called  him, 
or  Chris,  as  he  was  affectionately 
termed  by  his  crew,  died  in  1506,  thus 
failing  to  live  long  enough  to  see  the 
banana  sold  three  for  five  cents  and  to 
hear  Wagner’s  German  tidbits  played  on 
an  Italian  hand  organ  in  the  Irish  quar- 
ter of  the  land  he  discovered.  What  he 
would  have  said  had  he  heard  Wagner’s 
dulcet  strains  is  now  only  a matter  for 
conjecture.  There  are  some  historians 
who  say  he  would  have  spread  his  face 


in  a glad,  sweet  smile,  while  others  con- 
tend he  would  have  discovered  Alaska 
before  he  stopped  running.  None  can 
tell. 

The  parents  of  C.  Colomb,  as  he  was 
sometimes  called,  were  woolcombers, 
which  accounts  for  his  long  hair.  Being 
combers  by  profession,  his  parents  did 


not  mind  combing  it.  They  combed  it 
every  morning,  just  to  get  their  hands 
limber  for  the  day’s  work.  It  is  said 
that  Chris’s  father  was  something  of  a 
joker  himself,  and  that  he  remarked, 
when  Chris  was  born,  “Wooicomb,  little 
stranger!”  but  the  little  stranger  would 


not  wooicomb.  He  is  said  to  have  re- 
marked, ‘‘No,  father;  I have  other 
plans.  Herrman  the  Great  is  getting 
old  and  there  is  an  opening  for  a first- 
class  sleight-of-hand  man  that  can  do 
neat  parlor  tricks  with  eggs  and  discover 
China  off  the  coast  of  South  America.  ’* 
By  this  it  will  be  seen  that  Christoval, 
as  he  was  sometimes  called,  was  hazy  in 
his  geography.  Indeed,  the  school  map 
of  the  world  of  those  days  was  far  from 
the  map  as  we  know  it  now.  Through 
carelessness  or  graft,  large  slices  of  the 
world  were  omitted  from  the  school 
maps;  and  when  the  matter  was  brought 
to  the  attention  of  the  board  of  educa- 
tion, and  suggestions  were  made  that 
four  or  five  continents  seemed  to  have 
broken  loose  from  their  moorings  and 
to  have  floated  off,  and  the  board  was 
asked  to  get  a new  set  of  geographies, 
the  only  answer  they  made  was,  “What 
is  there  in  it  for  us?”  Nowadays  Amer- 
ica can  be  found  on  all  good  European 
maps  of  the  world,  being  retained  on 


THE  COST  OF  (ALMOST)  LIVING. 
Stranger — “ Poor  fellow!  Why  are  they  taking  him 
off?” 

Native — ” Taking  nothing  ! That  s a citizen  with,  his 
week's  groceries  being  seen  home  by  an  armed  escort  ’’ 


them  as  a compliment  to  the  tourists. 
But  little  Christophorus,  as  he  was 
sometimes  called,  did  not  have  this  ad- 
vantage. He  was  obliged  to  set  out 
seeking  America  when  he  did  not  know 
there  was  such  a place  and  did  not  know 
he  was  seeking  it.  That  he  found  it  at 
all  under  such  circumstances  shows  he 
was  no  common  person.  How  many  of 
us  who  pride  ourselves  on  our  wisdom 
and  sagacity  far  more  than  Cristofore 
(as  he  was  sometimes  called)  ever  did 
are  unable  to  find  even  a small,  brass 
collar  button  when  we  know  exactly 
where  it  fell!  We  should  think  of  this. 

Christophe,  as  he  was  sometimes 
called,  was  a married  man  when  he  dis- 
covered America,  but  we  have  no  reason 
for  believing  that  was  why  he  discovered 
it.  Excellent  as  his  education  had  been, 
he  had  never  heard  of  Reno.  And  yet, 
who  in  Reno  has  not  heard  of  Columbus? 
It  pays  to  get  your  name  in  the  papers. 

Chris  was  not,  on  the  whole,  what  one 
would  call  a good,  home-loving,  family 
man.  He  never  complained  of  the  food, 
but  soon  after  he  was  married  he  began 
to  stay  away  from  home  nights,  wander- 
ing along  the  coast  of  Africa  with  some 
Portuguese  companions  or  hiking  off  to 
Iceland  with  a stag  party.  It  was 
“anything  to  get  away  from  home” 
with  Chris,  so  far  as  I can  see;  and  as 
soon  as  he  heard  that  China  was  farther 
from  his  peaceful  fireside  than  any  other 
place,  he  kissed  his  wife  good-night  and 


told  her  not  to  wait  up  for 
him,  and  set  out  for  China. 
That  is  what  he  told  her 
he  was  going  to  do,  anyway ; 
but  he  never  turned  up  in 
China  at  all.  When  Mrs. 
Columbus  telephoned  there, 
they  answered  that  they 
fiad  not  seen  him,  but  if  he 
dropped  in  they  would  tell 
him  he  was  wanted  at  home. 
And  the  next  that  was 
heard  of  Chris,  he  was  in 
America.  Nobody  could 
place  any  reliance  in  him 
at  all.  His  excuse,  when 
he  reached  home  and  his 
wife  let  him  know  she  was 
very  well  aware  he  had  not 
gone  to  China  at  all,  was 
pretty  thin.  He  had  the 
effrontery  to  tell  her  that 
he  had  actually  started  for 
China  and  meant  to  get 
there,  but  that,  when  he 
was  making  a straight 
course  for  Hongkong,  some 
one  pushed  two  big  continents  in  front 
of  him  and  he  just  naturally  tripped 
over  them. 

You  may  be  sure  that,  the  next  trip 
Chris  took  his  wife  went  with  him. 


“I’ll  see  about  this  America!”  she  said; 
and,  in  spite  of  all  his  pleadings  that  it 
was  no  place  for  a lady,  she  went. 
“That’s  too  thin,  Chris!”  she  said.  “I 
want  to  know  why  you  came  home  with 
a photograph  of  a dark-red  brunette  in 
your  inside  vest  pocket.  No  man  I ever 
heard  of  ever  carried  anything  in  the 
inside  pocket  of  his  vest  unless  he 
wished  to  conceal  it.  I want  to  see  your 
Dolly.”  Then  Chris  made  the  error  of 
his  life.  “Her  name  isn’t  Dolly,”  he 
said.  “It’s  Cush-cush-to-wagly-bugh. ” 
“Very  well,  Christopher,”  said  Mrs. 
Colon,  in  a cutting  tone,  as  she  slammed 
her  bedroom  slippers  into  her  suit-case; 
“all  Cush-cush-to-wagly-bughs  look  alike 
to  me!" 

Chris  was  not,  perhaps,  wholly  free 
from  blame,  and  it  is  such  actions  as 
this  that  drive  women  into  the  suffra- 
gette fold.  As  soon  as  she  landed  in 
America,  Mrs.  Colomb  organized  the 
Woman’s  Suffrage  League  of  Guanahani. 
I hate  to  cast  suspicion  on  Mrs.  Colom- 
bo, but  it  was  soon  after  Chris  had  a 
few  sharp  words  with  her  that  he  was 
toted  back  to  Spain  in  chains,  and  Mrs. 
C.  remained  in  full  charge  of  the  gov- 
ernment. 


Do  not  hasten  trouble;  it  arrives  on  time. 


“IN  DAYS  OF  OLD.” 

' I wouldn’t  want  to  put  on  them  things.” 

' Sure,  when  you  ’re  fightin  mad  ye  don't  care  what  ye  wear. 


THE  LATEST  THINGS  IN  FURS— PERSIAN  LAMB. 

0 

Those  Boys — But  What  Would  Home  Be  Without  Them? 

By  J.  L.  HARBOUR. 


His  Mother  Speaks  : 

"YV/dLLIE,  will  you  just  look  at  that 
clock?  You  have  looked  at  it? 
Then  why  don’t  you  get  ready  for  bed? 
You  know  that  you  must  always  be  in 
bed  by  half-past  eight.  I don’t  care  if 
Ted  Thomas  does  sit  up  until  nine. 
Half-past  eight  is  your  bedtime  and — 
Stop  that  muttering!  You  know  that  I 
have  told  you  many  times  not  to  mutter 
and — No,  you  can  not  sit  up  to  study 
your  home  lesson ! Strange  that  you 
never  think  of  your  home  lesson  until 
your  bedtime!  You  will  have  time  to 


study  it  in  the  morning  if  you  get  up 
early.  Yes,  you  will ! No,  the  clock  is 
not  half  an  hour  fast!  I had  your 
father  set  it  by  his  watch  this  very 
morning.  No,  you  can’t  just  finish  that 
story.  You  have  had  the  whole  evening 
in  which  to  read  and  study,  and  you  have 
done  nothing  but  dawdle.  Now  you  are 
very  eager  to  read  and  study,  aren’t 
you?  I don’t  care  anything  about  what 
other  boys  do,  for — If  you  do  not  stop 
that  muttering,  I shall  call  your  father! 
Yes,  you  will  care  ! And  I want  you  to 
wash  your  hands  good  before  you  go  to 


bed.  When  did  you  wash  them?  No, 
it  isn’t  only  sissy-boys  who  have  clean 
hands.  Willie  Smythe,  will  you  just 
bear  in  mind  that  it  is  your  mother  to 
whom  you  are  speaking?  Yes,  you  act 
as  if  you  knew  it!  You  will  have  cause 
to  remember  it  if  I call  your  father. 
He  isn’t  your  mother,  as  you  very  well 
know.  Don’t  you  be  impertinent! 
That  is  one  thing  your  mother  will  not 
put  up  with,  as  I have  told  you  a hun- 
dred times!  Why  don’t  you  take  off 
your  shoes?  You  pick  up  that  necktie! 
The  idea  of  flinging  things  around  the 


room  like  that!  That  isn’t  the  place 
for  your  jacket ! I’d  like  to  know  what 
the  house  would  look  like  if  I wasn’t 
particular!  Stop  jerking  so  at  that 
shoe  lace!  I don’t  care  if  it  is  in  a 
hard  knot.  Jerking  like  that  will  only 
make  the  knot  harder.  Now,  I knew 
that  you  would  break  that  shoe  lace! 
You  would  try  the  patience  of — Wil- 
lie! You  pick  up  that  shoe  and  put  it 
where  it  belongs  at  night!  No,  you 
cannot  have  something  to  eat  before 
you  go  to  bed.  The  idea  of  it!  After 
all  the  supper  you  had ! What  are  you 
taking  all  of  those  things  out  of  your 
pockets  for?  You  put  them  right 
back!  It  would  take  a good  hour  to 
look  over  all  of  the  things  in  your 
pockets.  What  under  the  sun,  moon, 
and  stars  are  you  carrying  around 
three  dirty  handkerchiefs  for?  And 
you  were  fussing  yesterday  because 
you  couldn’t  find  a clean  handker- 
chief! 

Now  you  hustle  off  to  the  bathroom 
and  give  those  hands  a good  scrub- 
bing. You  wish  that  you  lived  in  a 
land  where  there  wasn’t  any  water? 
How  long  do  you  think  that  you  would 
live  there?  You  give  those  hands  a 
good  scrubbing!  Use  plenty  of  soap. 
Be  sure  and  wash  back  of  your  ears. 
Use  plenty  of  water.  I never  saw 
such  a boy  as  you  are,  to  think  that 
you  can  get  yourself  clean  with  half 
a teacup  full  of  water.  Your  towel 
isn’t  on  its  hook?  I am  sure  that  it 
isn’t  if  you  were  the  only  one  who 
used  it  last.  Look  for — And  you 
call  yourself  washed  already?  Let  me 
see  your  hands.  Willie  Smythe ! The 
idea  of  you  calling  those  hands  washed ! 
They  will  do  for  to-night,  but  you 
have  simply  got  to  wash  yourself  in 
dead  earnest  in  the  morning.  1 shall 
look  after  those  ears  myself  then. 
Now  you  go  to  your  room  and  to  bed. 

It  is  a good  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
after  your  regular  bedtime,  and  you 
know  that  mother  always  insists  on 
you  going  to  bed  at  exactly  half-past 
eight,  and  the  sooner  you  learn  that 
you  must  mind  your  mother,  the  better. 
I don’t  believe  that  you  have  been  in 
bed  at  half-past  eight  For  a month. 
You  can’t  find  your  nightgown?  Judg- 
ing from  the  rest  of  the  stuff  in  your 
pockets,  perhaps  your  nightgown  is 
there.  No,  you  shall  not  go  to  bed  with- 
out it.  You’ll  find  it  somewhere  in  the 
closet  in  your  room.  You  found  it?  I 
knew  that  you  would.  I want  that  mut- 


Drawn  by  Clyde  Squires. 


She  (at  the  piano) — “ How  do  you  enjoy  this  re- 
frain ?” 

He — “ Very  much.  The  more  you  refrain  the 
better  I like  it.” 

tering  stopped!  It’s  the  tenth  time  to- 
night that  I have  told  you  to  stop  mut- 
tering, and  you  know  that  when  mother 
speaks  she  has  to  be  obeyed ! Good- 
night, Willie!  That’s  a pretty  way  to 
say  good-night  to  your  mother,  isn’t 
it?  You  most  certainly  cannot  take  a 
book  to  bed  with  you  for  a little  while! 
Burt  Deane  says  he  reads  in  bed  every 
night?  That  is  nothing  to  me.  If  his 


mother  wants  to  let  him  do  anything 
that  foolish, she  can;  but  your  mother 
is  not  that  kind  of  a woman.  Get 
right  into  bed  and  put  out  that  light. 
Such  a time  as  I have  getting  you  to 
bed  every  night,  and  I’ll  have  a worse 
time  getting  you  up  in  the  morning.  • 
Got  that  light  out?  You’d  better! 
Stop  that  whistling!  The  idea  of  go- 
ing to  bed  and  whistling!  Good-night, 
Willie!  Dear,  dear!  these  boys! 

Those  Little  Things. 

Puny  little  high-brows, 

• Little  bigots,  too, 

Only  call  for  patience 
And  a kind  skiddoo. 

Decided. 

“I’d  buy  a car  if  it  weren’t  for  one 
thing.  ” 

“What  is  that?” 

“Having  to  look  out  for  the  other 
fellow.” 

“But  if  you  had  a car,  the  other  fel- 
low would  have  to  look  out  for  you, 
also.” 

“Gee!  I never  thought  of  that! 
I’ll  buy  one.” 

Leap  Year. 

She — “Will  you  marry  me?” 

He — “You  will  have  to  ask  father 
first.  ” 

She — “I  did;  but  he  refused  me.” 

The  Woman  of  It. 

“Why  do  you  spend  your  days  and 
nights  on  these  pictures?”  asks  the 
wife  of  the  struggling  artist.  “You 
don’t  get  enough  for  them  to  pay  you 
for  the  paint  you  use.” 

“I  know,  my  dear,”  he  answers; 
“but  think!  Rembrandt  and  others 
painted  pictures  and  sold  them  for 
trifles,  and  they  are  now  the  master- 
pieces of  the  world  and  bring  mil- 
lions of  dollars!  I am  not  painting 
for  us.  I am  painting  for  our  descend- 
ants. ” 

“Humph!”  is  the  discouraging  re- 
ply. “You  don’t  make  enough  for  us 
to  afford  to  raise  any  descendants.” 

Aftermath. 

Ever  since  New  Year’s  Day  we  have 
been  in  receipt  of  almost  daily  com- 
munications from  Santa’s  twin  brother, 
William  Claus,  better  known  to  most  of 
us  as  plain  “Bill.” 

Model  girls  seldom  serve  as  such. 


L’Envoi  of  the  Robbers. 

By  CAROLYN  WELLS. 

WHEN  the  Louvre’s  last  picture  is 
lifted  and  the  Luxembourg  stat- 
ues are  pinched, 

When  the  Oldest  Master  has  vanished 
and  the  newest  canvas  is  cinched, 

We  shall  rest,  and,  faith!  we  shall  need 
it — lie  low  for  a season  or  two, 

Till  the  work  of  the  modern  artists  shall 
set  us  to  work  anew. 

Then  those  that  made  good  shall  be 
happy;  they  shall  start  on  a fresh 
career, 

And  purloin  a ten-league  canvas,  with 
no  one  at  all  to  fear. 

They  shall  find  real  art  to  draw  from, 
hung  on  the  same  old  wall ; 

They  shall  take  two  or  three  of  an  even- 
ing, and  never  get  caught  at  all. 

And  only  Lupin  could  praise  them,  and 
only  Sherlock  could  blame; 

For  pone  could  be  sold  for  money  and 
none  could  be  shown  for  fame. 

But  each  for  the  joy  of  the  stealing,  and 
each  in  his  separate  car, 

Speed  off  with  the  picture  he’s  pilfered, 
in  spite  of  the  laws  as  they  are ! 

An  Undesirable  Citizen. 

In  the  dusky  twilight  His  Majesty  sat 
at  his  front  door  fanning  himself  when 
a stranger  approached  as 
though  in  a hurry. 

“Can  I get  accomoda- 
tions here?”  he  inquired 
briskly 


Satan  peered  at  the  visitor  for  a 
moment. 

“Aren’t  you  Colonel  Roosevelt?”  he 
inquired. 

“Of  Course.” 

“Well,  you  can’t  be  acommodated 
here,”  exclaimed  His  Satanic  Nibs, 
jumping  up  and  slamming  the  door. 
“I’ve  got  things  running  in  fairly  good 
shape,  considering  the  crowd  on  hand, 
but  if  you  got  in  you’d  be  introducing 
some  new  order  or  other,  and  I’d 
never  have  another  minute’s  peace 
again.  Beat  it,  Colonel.”  And  Satan 
waved  his  hand  outward  towards  the 
Eternal  Elsewhere. 

What ’s  in  the  Name  ? 

J is  for  joyous,  as  every  one  knows; 

U is  for  useful  in  fighting  off  woes; 

D is  for  dash — meaning  brilliance  and 
wit; 

G is  for  ginger,  for  greatness  and  grit; 
E means  that  everywhere  Judge  is  a hit. 

Metallurgical. 

Doctor  (after  examination) — “Madam, 
you  have  a constitution  of  iron.” 

Obese  patient — “I  have  often  won- 
dered what  made  me  so  heavy.” 


Heard  in  a Carpenter  Shop. 

By  VANCE  C.  CRISS. 

“It  is  ‘plane’  that  I love  you,”  he 
began. 

“Is  that  on  the  ‘level’?”  she  asked. 

“Haven’t  I always  been  on  the  ‘square’ 
with  you?”  he  urged. 

“But  you  have  so  many  ‘vises,’  ” she 
remonstrated. 

“Not  a ‘bit’  of  it,”  he  asserted. 

“What  made  you  ‘brace’  up?”  she 
queried  coquettishly. 

“The  fact  that  I ‘saw’  you,”  he  re- 
plied, with  a bow. 

“I  ought  to ‘hammer’ you  for  that,” 
she  answered  saucily. 

“Come  and  sit  by  me  on  the  ‘bench,’  ” 
he  urged. 

“Suppose  the  others  should  ‘file’  in,” 
she  demurred. 

“Let  me  ‘clamp’  you  to  my  heart,” 
he  pleaded. 

“You  shouldn’t  let  your  arms  ‘com- 
pass’ me,”  she  repiled. 

“I  know  a preacher  who’s  a good 
‘joiner,’  ” he  suggested. 

“Promise  not  to  ‘chisel’  him  out  of 
his  fee,”  she  requested. 

“That  wouldn’t  ‘augur’  well  for  us,  ” 
he  answered. 

“Shall  I wear  my  ‘blue 
print’?”  she  asked,  as 
they  started  for  the 
license. 


A GAMBOL  FOR  HIGH  STEAKS. 


Announcement  of  the  New  Woman’s  College. 

Prepared,  for  the  Principal  by  WILLIAM  SANFORD. 


"THE  New  College  for  Women;  Mrs. 
A Husbandketcher,  principal.  An- 
nouncement of  courses: 

Freshman  Year-  How  to  cook  eggs — 
boiled,  fried,  dropped,  scrambled,  etc. 
How  to  cook  potatoes  and  other  vegeta- 
bles. The  art  of  repairing  trousers  and 
sewing  on  buttons.  Goods  to  work  on, 
in  various  stages  of  neglect,  will  be 
provided.  How  to  stew  prunes.  The 
gentle  movements  of  sweeping,  as  prac- 
ticed with  efficient  results.  How  to 
wash  the  elusive  dish 

Sophomore  Year — Breadmaking.  A 
scientific  study  of  this  art  will  be  sup- 
plemented with  a thorough  course  in 
biscuit,  roll,  muffin,  pie,  cake,  and 
other  pastry  manufactures.  The  mak- 
ing of  tea  and  coffee.  The  elementary 
stages  of  sock  darning.  How  to  cook 
beefsteak.  Soup — a science. 

Junior  Year — How  to  roast  a fowl, 
beef,  mutton,  veal,  etc.,  and 
to  serve  in  an  appetizing 
manner.  Further  study  in 
bread,  tea,  and  coffee  mak- 
ing. Reading  of  extracts 
from  the  diaries  of  hus- 


bands, showing  effect  of  good  bread, 
tea,  and  coffee  on  the  mind,  as  com- 
pared with  poorly  made  compositions. 
Vivid  comparisons.  How  to  darn  me- 
dium-sized holes  in  socks.  Little 
thoughts  about  chops.  Effect  of  wrap- 
pers on  a husband’s  mind.  The  baby — 
a few  remarks. 

Senior  Year — How  to  prepare  three 
good  meals  a day,  with  plenty  of  variety. 
Perfection  in  bread,  tea,  and  coffee 
making.  Extracts  from  the  diaries  of 
husbands,  showing  effect  on  the  mind  of 
three  good  meals  a day,  as  compared 
with  those  poorly  prepared.  Vivid  com- 
parisons. Twenty-seven  different  ways 
to  serve  onions,  with  similar  detail  on 
other  foodstuffs.  How  to  rebuild  entire 
sock  heels.  Scientific  lectures  on  baby, 
with  models  to  work  over. 

Mrs.  Husbandketcher  personally  guar- 
antees that  twice  as  many  male  eligibles 
will  attend  the  first  graduation  as  there 


are  graduates.  In  order  to  avoid  a 
stampede  for  wives,  the  eligibles  will 
be  bound  to  chairs  and  may  be  exam- 
ined before  selections  are  made.  Grad- 
uates with  the  best  marks  for  the  entire 
course  will  be  allowed  first  selections, 
and  so  on  down  the  list. 

Clergymen  will  be  on  hand  in  case 
any  graduates  wish  to  wed  at  once. 

Mrs.  Husbandketcher  personally  guar- 
antees that  eligibles  will  be  docile  in 
every  way.  Thousands  of  bachelors  are 
now  notifying  the  principal  that  they 
will  remain  single  until  the  first  gradua- 
tion, provided  they  may  be  allowed  to 
attend  and  run  a chance  of  being  se- 
lected. It  is  expected  that  fully  a hun- 
dred thousand  names  will  be  received 
before  the  awarding  of  initial  diplomas. 
Mrs.  Husbandketcher  assures  intending 
pupils  that  only  the  cream  of  the  coun- 
try’s eligible  bachelors  will  be  favored 
with  invitations  to  be  present. 

The  New  College  will  render  leap 
year  unnecessary. 

Irony  of  Fate. 

It  is  rather  paradoxical  to 
read  of  a number  of  per- 
sons having  been  killed  in  a 
life-insurance  building. 


oftmEi  iicoiirffOiiiEk/ 


The  Language  of  Flowers. 

By  CAROLYN  WELLS. 

V/OUNG  MEN  who  are  timid  or  bash- 
A ful  may  often  express  their  senti- 
ments toward  a lady  by  sending  her  a 
bouquet.  To  such  we  gladly  give  the 
appended  information  as  to  the  meaning 
of  the  various  blossoms,  for  nothing  is 
more  disastrous  than  to  convey  a wrong 
message  by  means  of  ill-selected  posies. 

Apple  blossoms  indicate  that  the  lady 
is  the  apple  of  your  eye.  Peach  blos- 
soms signify  that  you  consider  her  a 
peach,  while  daisies  imply  that  you 
think  her  one  of  them. 

A rubber  plant  carries  the  pleasant 
message,  “I  like  to  look  at  you”;  while 
tulips  subtly  murmur,  “May  I kiss  you?” 
Stock  means,  “I  have  taken  a flyer  in 
Wall  Street”;  while  a bunch  of  orchids, 
tied  with  violet  velvet  ribbon, 
declares,  “I  am  in  debt.” 

To  be  sure,  one  does  not  always 
wish  to  send  affectionate  mes- 
sages, and  the  reverse  sort  may 
be  discreetly  expressed  in  the 
language  of  flowers.  Wall  flow- 
ers signify  that  in  your  opinion 
the  lady  is  not  popular.  Fox- 
gloves are  merely  a synonym  for 
the  old  fashion,  “mitten” ; while, 
if  you  wish  to  break  off  entirely 
with  the  lady  (and  doubtless  she 
will  consider  herself  well  rid  of 
you),  send  her  a spray  of  lemon 
verbena. 

Household  Talk. 

Husband  — “A  fool  and  his 
money  are  soon  parted.” 

Wife — “I  haven’t  noticed  any 
of  the  fool  about  you  for  some 
time.  ” 

If  and  But  make  a poor  pair  to 
draw  to. 


Habitual  Training. 

In  old  China  they’re  building  a 
Y.  M.  C.  A., 

To  teach  all  the  athletic  tricks; 
Successful  they’ll  be  at  swinging  the 
clubs, 

If  we  judge  by  their  use  of  chop  sticks. 

Poor  Married  Man. 

“The  time  will  come,”  thundered  the 
suffragette  orator,  “when  woman  will 
get  a man’s  wages!” 

“Yes,”  sadly  muttered  a man  on  the 
rear  seat;  “next  Saturday  night. ” 

With  Them,  but  Not  of  Them. 

“Why  is  Jones  so  smiling?” 

“His  wife  has  joined  the  Society  for 
the  Suppression  of  Unnecessary  Noise, 
and  he  thinks  now  she  will  have  to  shut 
up  for  a while.” 


Children  vs.  Dogs. 

Apartment  houses  which  do  not  admit 
young  children  are  becoming  more  and 
more  numerous,  while  those  advertising 
that  dogs  will  be  welcomed  with  open 
arms  are  constantly  increasing  in  num- 
ber. The  railroad  company  that  refused 
to  transport  children  would  soon  find 
itself  in  hot  water.  The  landlord  who 
discriminates  in  the  matter  of  the  age 
of  his  tenants  should  be  dealt  with  by 
legal  injunction  and  forced  to  remove 
his  unfair  restrictions.  Until  there  is 
a change  in  the  present  biological 
scheme  of  things,  there  must  be  children 
before  there  can  be  landlords  and  nerv- 
ous tenants,  and  that  they  must  suffer 
and  cause  their  parents  to  suffer  the 
indignities  of  disbarment  simply  be- 
cause they  exist  and  are  so  unfortunate 
as  to  be  young  seems  a travesty 
on  modern  civilization. 

Not  Up-to-date. 

The  Queen  of  Hearts  was  mak- 
ing the  tarts. 

“Hold  on!”  we  cried.  “Have 
you  got  a sanitary  bakeshop?” 

Sundries. 

Don’t  think  a girl  will  coo  like 
a dove  just  because  she  is  pigeon- 
toed. 

Optimism  isn’t  just  grinning, 
but  this  is  where  most  of  us 
“get  off.  ” 

“This  is  a dog’s  life,”  yawned 
the  vivisectionist,  as  he  rolled  up 
his  sleeves  preparatory  to  the 
slaughter. 

Money  may  talk,  but  it  is 
usually  a bit  ungrammatical. 

A ring  on  the  hand  is  worth 
two  at  the  door. 

That  will  be  about  all  now. 


NOT  INSPIRED. 

He — “ Have  you  read  my  latest  poems  ? They  were  inspired 
by  you.” 

She — “Oh,  Mr  Scribbler,  I don't  think  it’s  fair  to  put  the 
blame  on  me.” 


Go  Somewhere! 

By  ELLIS  0.  JONES. 

/^*  O WEST,  young  man  of  New  York! 

Go  East ! Go  South  ! Go  North  ! Go 
somewhere ! Go  anywhere  and  stay  as 
long  as  possible.  Forget  that  there  is 
such  a place  as  New  York.  You  are  ill. 
You  are  troubled  with  megalometropoli- 
tanism.  You  need  a corrective.  You 
need  to  find  that  New  York,  while  the 
center  of  much,  is  the  circumference  of 
nothing.  You  are  a slave  of  the  New 
York  idea.  New  York  should  be  kept 
in  its  place.  There  is  only  one  way  to 
get  along  in  New  York,  and  that  is  to 
keep  it  under  your  thumb,  to  drive  it 
with  blinders  and  a curb-bit. 

Go  away  somewhere,  far  enough  so 
that  you  can  stand  off  and  get  a good 
look  at  it — a bird’s-eye  view.  You  are 
sure  to  be  benefited.  After  you  have 
convalesced,  you  may  come  back,  if  you 
still  have  the  desire;  but  do  not  be  in  a 
hurry. 

Nowadays. 

Drummei — “See  here!  I want  an  in- 
vestigation at  once ! Some  one  went 
through  my  grip,  ransacked  my  books, 

d turned  my  clothes  inside  out  last 
nignt.  It’s  a plain  case  of  robbery!” 

Hotel  clerk — “Robbery  nothing!  The 
boys  just  wanted  to  find  out  if  you  had 
a membership  card  in  the  Anti-Tipping 
League.” 

Some  Nevers. 

Never  hustle  for  a job  if  you  are  not 
willing  to  hustle  after  you  get  it. 

Never  listen  to  gossip.  When  in  the 
company  of  gossips,  do  all  the  talking 
yourself. 

Never  laugh  at  your  own  jokes,  no 
matter  how  funny  they  are,  nor  fail  to 
laugh  at  the  jokes  of  your  friends,  no 
matter  how  dry  they  are. 

Gambling  Ethics. 

The  two  gentlemen  were  in  a New 
York  street  car — surface,  elevated,  or 
subway  is  no  matter.  Every  seat  was 
full,  those  at  the  rear  of  the  car  being 
occupied  by  well-dressed  men.  Pres- 
ently the  car  stopped  and  a woman  came 
on  board — very  nice-looking  woman,  but 
not  a fashion  plate. 

“I’ll  bet  you  what  you  like,”  said  one 
gentleman,  “that  not  a man  of  them 
offers  her  his  place.” 

“My  dear  sir.”  responded  the  other, 
“don’t  you  know  enough  about  the  ethics 
of  gambling  to  know  that  you  have  no 
right  to  bet  on  a certainty?” 


Saving  the  Town. 

Visitor — “Was  the  Christmas  mail 
heavy?” 

Rural  postmaster — “Haven’t  got  it 
all  out  yet.  I tell  you,  this  town  owes 
its  lives  to  me.  About  the  first  of 
December,  almost  all  the  letters  that 
come  in  here  were  covered  with  funny- 
looking stamps.  I got  kind  of  suspi- 
cious, and  it  certainly  puzzled  me  till  a 
New  York  drummer  put  me  wise,  tell- 
ing me  they  was  tuberculosis  stamps. 
Of  course  I knew  that  stuff  was  darned 
bad,  so  I just  ups  and  confiscates  the 
mail  as  fast  as  it  came  in.  I’ve  got  it 
all  out  in  the  back  room  fumigating 
now.  Pretty  narrow  squeeze,  but  I 
nipped  the  epidemic  right  in  the  bud.” 

Items  of  the  Future. 

John  Williams,  a well-known  mer- 
chant, returned  to-day  from  a hunt  in 
the  Maine  woods.  He  was  not  shot  at 
once  for  a deer. 

William  Digg,  the  famous  millionaire, 
who  has  made  such  a fortune  in  certified 
soap,  is  now  receiving  bids  for  having 
his  ancestors  traced  back. 

Again  Those  Little  Things. 

By  ROSCOE  GILMORE  STOTT. 

Little  jabs  from  Teddy, 

Bobbie’s  bursts  of  will, 

Although  rather  smarty, 

Never  bother  Bill. 

Little  spats  in  Europe, 

Little  warfares,  too, 

Give  our  daily  papers,  through  the  me- 
dium of  magic  editorials,  elongated 
dispatches,  half-tones,  maps,  biog- 
raphies, suggestions,  and  weighty 
judgments, 

Something  nice  to  do. 

Not  Found. 

“First  thing  you  do,”  says  the  em- 
ployer to  the  new  young  man  who  has 
been  engaged  as  a city  salesman,  “you 
go  into  the  back  office  and  take  that 
desk  the  other  man  used,  and  see  if  you 
can  get  some  order  out  of  chaos.” 

An  hour  later  the  enthusiastic  young 
man  appears  and  diffidently  reports, 

“Mr.  Kimphlet,  I am  sorry,  but  I 
have  looked  all  through  the  card  index 
and  the  telephone  directory,  and  I can’t 
find  the  address  of  Mr.  Chaos,  to  solicit 
that  order  from  him.” 

A Ready  Reckoner. 

“My  dear,  how  often  do  you  leave  off 
smoking?” 

“Well,  fully  as  often  as  I start  in 
again.” 


u wrrr«^5 


A WRECKED  ANGULAR  FIGURE. 


t*Ei!  WiTT«rS 

RETURNING  WITH  THE  CHANGE. 


FINE  DAY?” 
RATHER  FRESH  I” 


THE  VEIL. 

The  veil  some  wear  in  coquetry, 

To  hide  the  eyes — and  yet  they  see; 
To  shroud  the  face  as  in  a mist. 

Yet  showing  lips  that  should  be  kissed. 
But  this  fair  one,  tis  plain  to  see, 

Is  now,  or  very  soon  will  be 
A bride,  whose  veil  cannot  disguise 
The  happy  meaning  in  her  eyes. 


WINS  TENNIS  TOURNAMENT. 


IS  EXPERT  WITH  THE  GLOVES. 


SWIMS  TWENTY  MILES 


A DEMON  AT  BASKET  BALL. 


ONE  TYPE  OF 


T 


KNOCKS  A HOME  RUN  EVERY  TIME  AT  BAT. 


WINS  CROSS  COUNTRY  RUN. 


MODERN 


GIRL 


THE  MODERN  CHASE. 

The  mythic  maid  who  love's  chase  lost 
For  golden  apples  on  the  way, 

And  wed  her  victor  as  the  cost, 

Was  not  like  maidens  of  to-day. 

The  fair  ones  now  full  willing  are 
When  men  of  matrimony  sing  ; 

And  each  will  run  both  fast  and  far, 

And  seize  with  joy  the  wedding-ring. 


T H 


E TOSS  OF  THE  COIN. 


"Heads,  Noo  York;  tails,  Philadelphy.  Tails!  I lose  ’’ 


Her  permanence  seems  never  to  have 
been  questioned,  if  we  are  to  judge 
from  that  recurrent  phrase,  ‘‘the  eternal 
feminine.”  You,  I know,  on  the  con- 
trary, are  burning  to  learn  why  such  a 
strange  creature  ever  existed.  Mes- 
sieurs, it  is  here  that  I come  to  the  most 
difficult  part  of  my  address.  How  shall 
I convey  to  you  the  ultimate  conclusion 
of  my  research?  I confess  to  a certain 
gene  at  the  mention  of  a fact  which, 
even  at  this  distant  period,  is  so  humil- 
iating to  man.  Incredible  as  it  may 
sound,  ‘‘woman”  seems  to  have  fulfilled 
a reproductive  function.  There  was  a 
time  when  man  was  born  of  woman ! 
Fortunately  for  our  ancestral  self- 
respect,  the  exact  process 
will  be  forever  veiled  in 
the  deepest  obscurity.  As 
far  as  we  shall  ever 
know,  this  was  woman’s 
only  function.  Her  whole 
existence  was  shaped  to 
this  one  end,  and  her  lot, 
if  in  fancy  we  ascribe  to 
her  any  sensibility,  could 
not  have  been  a happy 
one.  But  in  all  proba- 


bility she  was  merely  an  automaton.  We 
must  conceive  her  as  such,  and  those 
shallow  and  (I  denounce  them  by  a new 
word)  effeminate  charlatans  who  seek  to 
class  ‘‘woman”  as  human  can,  in  the 
light  of  my  researches,  only  be  derided. 
Woman  was  a clumsy  and  incomprehens- 
ible device  of  blind  and  groping  nature  to 
effect  what  we  now  accomplish  by  the 
divine  power  of  reproductive  thought. 

Your  joy  at  the  disappearance  of  such 
a blot  upon  our  history  leaves  you  still, 
I hope,  with  some  curiosity  to  know  how 


Kind  old  gentleman — “ Won't  you  come  and  sit  on  my  lap,  little  girl?” 

Little  Miss  JQI2 — " Sir ! how  dare  you  suggest  such  a thing  when  we  met  only 
five  minutes  ago.” 


this  was  brought  about.  It  seems  that, 
at  the  beginning  of  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury, the  majority  of  women,  who  doubt- 
less were  often  a prey  to  that  eternal 
warfare  to  which  the  universal  harmony 
subjects  the  grotesque  and  the  mon- 
strous, had  grown  neglectful  of  their 
function  and,  as  it  were,  completely  de- 
ranged. They  gathered  together  in 
dangerous  hordes  and  began  to  assail 
the  assemblies  of  men  and  infested  all 
public  places.  Strange  manifestoes 
were  issued  and  incoherent  cries  aped 
the  sonorous  battle  hymns 
of  men.  Would  that  some 
of  these  had  been  pre- 
served to  us ! They  would 
have  given  us  an  insight 
into  the  mental  develop- 
ment of  this  eccentric 
species.  One  perfect  ex- 
ample, indeed,  has  sur- 
vived, apparently  jotted 
down  by  a puzzled  man  of 
those  times.  It  reads,  for 
none  can  understand  it, 
‘‘Conversation  without 
Representation  is  Tyran- 
ny”— a cryptic  utterance 


Extract  from  a woman’ s emancipation  article : “ Women,  being  while  men,  being  human,  are  expected  to  differ  one  from 

a sex,  are  expected  to  conform  to  a type, another." 

PERHAPS. 


that  has  remained  the  enigma  of  the  sa- 
vants of  all  ages.  The  whole  movement 
was  evidently  a complete  organic  de- 
rangement, probably  foreshadow- 
ing the  inevitable  disintegration 
of  a hybrid  on  its  devolutional 
descent.  Also  it  was  a time  of 
sorrow  and  vexation  for  our  fore- 
fathers. Witness  this  ancient 
newspaper  clipping,  which  com- 
plains, with  a bitterness  that  is 
all  eloquence:  ‘‘Alas,  our  woeful 
fate  ! For  whereas  formerly  man 
could  get  on  without  woman,  he 
now  finds  that  he  cannot  get  along 
with  her.  Wherefore  our  towns 
have  neither  a mayor  nor  a may- 
oress. ” 

Thus  was  the  twilight  of  man. 

Yet  out  of  the  very  shadow  of  the 
skirt  was  born  our  bright  era. 

For  it  was  in  the  year  1920  that 
the  great  Manfred  took  out  his 
first  patent  for  the  manufacture 
of  the  Vitallic-Auto-Biogenetic- 
Man  and  published  his  formulas. 

When  we  consider,  messieurs,  in 
what  scientific  darkness,  with  what 
crude  resources,  Manfred  labored,  we 
cannot  but  accord  him  the  laurel 
highest  genius.  The  ingenious 
master  went  to  work  with  the  ma- 
terials to  hand.  He  took  the  foam 
of  the  life-giving  sea  and  mixed 
it  with  the  yolk  of  the  oldest  egg 
he  could  find.  Then,  by  means  of 
hypnosis,  which  was  then  not  yet 
generally  known  to  be  part  of  the 
life  force,  Manfred  invoked  the 
manliness  of  dead  and  ancient  he- 
roes of  the  past  into  his  pot,  and, 
heating  the  concoction  with  all 
the  wasted  warmth  of  affection 
which  had  gone  astray  in  the  world 
since  men  and  women  were,  he 
allowed  it  to  simmer.  Soon  the 
homunculus  appeared  and,  fed  by 
electrolized  ozone,  assumed  per- 
manent life.  Manfred  had  in- 
vented the  birth  machine.  Such, 
as  you  all  know,  is  the  origin  of 


our  life.  Manfred  accomplished  with 
infinite  patience  what  to-day  we  perform 
by  the  simple  process  of  concentrating 


SAD,  BUT  TRUE. 

Fair  traveler  (to  Italian  army  officer) — “ Captain,  are  not 
the  Italian  soldiers  inveterate  cigarette  smokers  ?” 

Cavalry  captain — “ Why,  yes— er — that  is,  here  in  Tripoli 
we  cannot  get  enough  ‘ Turkish  Trophies.'  ” 


generic  thought  upon  the  universal  bio- 
plasm. 

of  Let  me  complete  for  you  the  brief  and 


fateful  history  of  woman.  Some  newly 
discovered  fragments  of  documentary 
evidence  enable  me  to  present  you  with 
an  accurate  history  of  what  took 
place.  Manfred’s  discovery 
brought  a sharp  and  sudden  reali- 
zation to  the  embattled  women. 
They  saw,  too  late,  that  the  very 
reason  of  their  being,  their  sole 
excuse  for  existence,  had  been  de- 
stroyed. Knowing  only  too  well 
that  they  had  forfeited  whatever 
accidental  favor  they  may  have 
found  in  the  eyes  of  majestical 
man,  they  foresaw  that  their  case 
was  indeed  desperate.  With  one 
piercing  wail  of  despair,  they 
gathered  into  a frenzied  host  and 
hurled  themselves  upon  Manfred’s 
laboratories.  In  those  days,  I re- 
gret to  say,  women  had  kept  the 
generous  heart  of  man  ferocious 
and  without  mercy.  The  iniqui- 
tous principle  of  property  which, 
according  to  all  accounts,  arose  in 
woman  was  being  attacked  by  the 
very  mob  that  had  evoked  it. 
Strong  measures  were  taken.  Nothing 
could  abate  the  fury  of  the  assailants. 
They  were  exterminated  to  a woman! 
That  is  the  history,  messieurs, 
which  hides  behind  this  little 
piece  of  rusted  iron. 

— Alfred  H$oth  Kuttntr. 


A TEUTONIC  RADIATOR. 

Hey,  Jimmie  ! Come  over  here  and  get  warmed." 


A man  doesn’t  always  look  as 
young  as  he  feels  or  a woman  feel 
as  young  as  she  looks. 


Located. 

An  orator,  wishing  to  give  an  il- 
lustration to  point  his  moral, 
shouted, 

‘‘Where  is  the  fool  who  rocked 
the  boat  last  summer?” 

‘‘Say,  mister,”  came  a voice 
from  the  audience,  ‘‘you  can  find 
him  down  on  the  pond,  trying  to 
see  how  near  he  can  skate  to  the 
‘Danger’  sign.” 

A Truism. 


“I  DARES  ’EM  TO  SHOW  THEIRSELVES.' 


A SYM-PHONY  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


Der  wandernde  Musikant. 

MURRISCH  sitzen  sie  und  nr.aulen, 

Auf  den  Banken  stumm  und  breit, 
Gahnend  strecken  sich  die  Faulen 
Und  die  Kecken  suchen  Streit! 

Da  komm’  ich  durchs  Dorf  geschritten, 
Fernher  durch  den  Abend  kiihl, 

Stell’  mich  in  des  Kreises  Mitten, 

Griisz’  und  zieh’  mein  Geigenspiel. 

Und  wie  ich  den  Bogen  schwenke, 

Ziehn  die  Klange  in  der  Rund’ 

Allen  recht  durch  die-Gelenke 
Bis  zum  tief3ten  Herzensgrund. 

Und  nun  geht’s  ans  Glaserklingen, 

An  ein  Walzen  urn  und  urn, 

Je  mehr  ich  streich’,  je  mehr  sie  springen 
Keiner  fragt  erst  lang:  warum? — 

Jeder  will  dem  Geiger  reichen 
Nun  sein  Scherflein  auf  die  Hand — 

Da  vergeht  ihm  gleich  sein  Streichen 
Und  fort  ist  der  Musikant. 

Und  sie  sehn  ihn  frohlich  steigen 
Nach  den  Waldeshohn  hinaus, 

Horen  ihn  von  fern  noch  geigen 
Und  gehn  all’  vergniigt  nach  Haus. 

Doch  in  Waldes  griinen  Hallen 
Rast  ich  dann  noch  manche  Stund’, 

Nur  die  fernen  Nachtigallen 
Schlagen  tief  aus  nacht’gem  Grund. 

Und  es  rauscht  die  Nacht  so  leise 
Durch  die  Waldeseinsamkeit 
Und  ich  sinn’  auf  neue  Weise, 

Die  der  Menschen  Herz  erfreut. 


The  Wandering  Musician. 

DULL  and  gloomy  on  the  benches, 
There  they  sit  in  listless  mood- 
Lazy  ones  with  monkey  wrenches, 
Braver  ones  devoid  of  food. 

Then,  as  I approach  the  village 
From  afar  in  evening’s  chill, 

I arrive  in  time  to  pillage, 

And  with  fiddle  show  my  skill. 

And  my  bow,  with  rhythmic  motion, 
With  grand  melody  fills  space; 
Arms  and  legs  splash  in  the  ocean, 
Joy  and  shouting  on  each  face. 

Cheerfully  they  clink  the  glasses, 
And  they  waltz  in  circles  gay. 

See  them  gambol,  lads  and  lasses! 
See  them  gayly  walk  away! 

Each  one  slips  to  me  a quarter, 

Puts  the  trifle  in  my  hand; 

Then  I quit  and  drink  some  water. 
After  which  I leave  my  stand. 

Then  they  see  me  hopping  gayly 
Up  the  mountain’s  forest  green. 

I repeat  the  journey  daily, 

When  I have  some  gasoline. 

But  in  verdant  forest  places 
I remain  for  many  hours, 

See  the  nightingales’  sweet  faces 
Here  and  there  among  the  flowers. 

And  the  night’s  mysterious  rackets 
In  the  lonely  forest  wild 
Make  me  think  of  yellow  jackets 
When  I used  to  be  a child. 


.✓tarv*  v’v  ^ ' 


• 1 ."s;  " 

* 

• • •>■:•'  tv. > * .:  ■ ,-^y  .-,*?  - • ? 
' -W ; *'  * v /v*  . T/..  /, • 


w:;-v:  m: 


mi 


- 


:wm 


■> 


& 


INSPIRATION 


' 


THE  ULTIMATUM 

Husband  of  the  playful  one—"  Stop  it  now,  or  I 'll  wake  your  baby  !” 


Deterrent  of  Crime. 

B,  MtLANDBURGH  WILSON 

[Music  for  Prison  Meals.  Federal  Convicts  at  Atlanta  to 
have  Popular  Entertainment  Each  Day.  News  heading .J 

THE  CASHIER  stood  beside  the  safe 
And  helped  himself  to  bills; 

His  getaway  was  neatly  planned 
Beyond  the  distant  hills. 

No  thought  of  mother  stayed  his  hand 
Nor  dimmed  his  greedy  eye; 

We  whispered,  “Music  with  your 
meals” — 

He  put  temptation  by. 

The  desperado  on  the  track 
Prepared  to  stop  the  train. 

And  in  some  lonely  desert  cave 
To  hide  his  ill-got  gain. 

No  thought  of  hardship  or  disgrace 
Availed  his  crime  to  check; 

We  murmured,  “Music  with  your 

meals” — 

He  ran  away,  by  heck ! 

The  man  with  murder  in  his  heart 
Beside  a brother  stood, 

And  planned  to  take  the  other’s  life 
*Vith  brutal  hardihood. 

No  thought  of  Cain  or  penalty 
Unnerved  his  hand  that  day; 

We  muttered,  “Music  with  your 

meals” — 

He  threw  his  gun  away. 

No  Wonder. 

Mrs.  Givem — “What  makes  you  so 
tired?” 

Weary  Willie— “ Heredity,  mum.  Me 
father  was  the  original  Tired  Business 
Man.” 

Though  Not  Relished, 

A little  lemon,  now  and  then, 

Is  good  for  some  conceited  men. 


Order  Obeyed. 

Willis — “My  son  was  spending  so 
much  at  college  that  I told  him  he  must 
cut  some  of  his  luxuries.” 

Gillis — “Did  he  do  it?” 

Willis — “Yes.  He  writes  me  that  he 
has  been  cutting  classes  ever  since.” 


The  Stage. 

Stella — ‘‘Is  her  marriage  announced?” 

Bella — “Yes;  now  it  only  needs  to  be 
denounced  and  renounced.” 

Who  wants  to  be  as  independent  as  a 
pig  on  ice?  That  never  brings  home 
the  bacon. 


A Brilliant  Adsmith. 

“You  haven’t  got  J.  Jones  Jinkins 
writing  advertisements  for  you  any 
more,  I hear,”  remarked  one  business 
man  to  another,  both  good  advertisers 
along  different  lines. 

“No,”  replied  the  other  in  a tone  of 
strong  disapproval,  “and  I’m  glad  of  it.” 

“What’s  wrong  with  him?  I under- 
stood he  had  taken  a course  from  a cor- 
respondence school  and  was  thoroughly 
competent.  ” 

“Was  he?”  And  the  other  man  spat 
as  though  something  tasted  bad.  “Was 
he?  Well,  let  me  tell  you  what  he  done. 

I had  a new  brand  of  toothbrushes  and  I 
wanted  something  extra  to  exploit  them 
all  over,  and  I told  him  to  go  to  it  good. 
Next  day  in  all  the  papers  it  showed  up 
large  and  luminous,  and  at  the  bottom 
there  was  a line  standing  out  clear 
which  read:  ‘If  not  satisfactory  after  a 
week’s  trial,  return  and  get  your  money 
back.  ’ Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that  ? 
Toothbrushes,  mind  you!  Rats!” 

Another  Duty. 

“You  are  my  wife’s  social  secretary?” 
he  asks  of  the  beauteous  creature  who  is 
seated  at  the  small  desk  in  the  study. 

“Yes,  sir,”  she  smiles.  “I  am  sup- 
posed to  take  Mrs.  Blirrup’s  place  in  as 
many  social  details  as  possible.” 

“Well — er — she  doesn’t  seem  to  be 
coming  downstairs  this  morning,  and  it 
has  always  been  her  custom  to  kiss  me 
good-by  when  I start  for  the  office.” 


*•  $ . 

t h' 


A FAUX  PAS. 

Thoughtless  admirer  ' You  're  looking  splendid  this  evening.  (Deprecatory  murmur  from  girl.)  But  perhaps  it ’s  the  light  1” 


Success. 

By  ELLIS  0.  JOSES 

<<  T CAN  truthfully  say  I am  a suc- 
cess,” said  the  literary  man  who 
had  hitherto  kept  silent. 

The  others  looked  at  his  modest  attire 
and  tried  to  think  of  something  he  had 
written. 

“Yes,”  he  went  on.  ‘‘It  is  easy 
enough  for  a business  man  to  stay  mar- 
ried when  he  is  home  only  one  day  in  the 
week,  but  I have  been  doing  all  my  work 
at  home  for  nearly  thirty  years  and  I 
still  have  the  same  wife  I started  with.” 

1 he  Woman  of  It,  Of  Course. 

‘‘Jermalon  tells  me  that  his  wife  is 
very  angry  with  you  because  you  didn’t 
keep  your  promise  not  to  tell  anybody 
what  she  told  you  about  her  sister-in- 
law,”  says  Mr.  Pilfickle  reprovingly. 

‘‘Well,  she  has  no  reason  to  censure 
me,”  asserts  Mrs.  Pilfickle.  ‘‘I  never 
confided  it  to  anybody  except  you.” 

‘‘That’s  just  it,  my  dear.  I hap- 
pened to  mention  it  to  one  or  two  of  the 
fellows  downtown,  and  they  spread  it 
around  until  it  came  to  Jermalon’s  ears, 
and  he  told  his  wife  about  it.  I don’t 
see  why  it  is  you  women  have  to  gossip 
all  the  time.” 

As  Shelley  Has  It  Not. 

I fear  thy  kisses,  gentle  maiden, 

I fear  thy  mien,  thy  tone,  thy  mo- 
tion— 

Methinks  thine  eyes  are  heavy  laden 

With  thoughts  about  this  leap-year 
notion. 


Frenzied  Finance. 

Little  Jack  Horner  got  a good  corner 
On  all  the  wheat  supply; 

But  the  price  of  it  fell  before  he  could 
sell, 

And  he  said,  ‘‘What  a thickhead  am 
I!” 


There’s  more  truth  than  poetry  in 
some  poetry. 


Boss — “ What  is  the  cause  of  this  continual 
tardiness,  young  man  ?” 

Newly-wed  employee — ‘‘Well,  I,  er-um 
— have  to  button  up  the  ashes,  light  the  shirt- 
waist, and  throw  out  the  furnace  before  I can 
leave  home.” 


Humorless  Women 

The  Wandering  Willie  had  received 
plentiful  inward  repairs  at  a generous 
farmhouse  half  a mile  down  the  road, 
and  when  he  came  to  the  next  he  might 
have  passed  on,  but  he  was  in  still  fur- 
ther need,  and  he  knocked  at  the  kitchen 
door.  A kind  lady  responded  to  his 
knock.  He  was  such  a ragged  specimen 
that  her  heart  was  moved  before  he 
spoke. 

‘‘Why,  you  poor  man!”  she  ex- 
claimed. “Come  into  the  house!  We 
haven’t  got  much  just  now,  but  you  can 
have  enough  to  keep  body  and  soul  to- 
gether. ” 

“ ’Tain’t  that  so  much,  lady,”  he  re- 
plied, sticking  out  a foot  in  a dilapidated 
shoe,  “as  it  is  something  to  keep  upper 
and  sole  together.” 

Ha  laughed  at  his  joke,  but  the  woman 
did  not.  Women  have  no  sense  of 
humor.  She  slammed  the  door  in  his 
face. 

His  Specialty. 

“Do  you  speak  several  languages, 
father?” 

“No,  my  son,”  replied  Mr.  Henpeck, 
gazing  sadly  at  his  wife;  “but  I do  know 
the  mother  tongue.” 

The  Fault. 

Nurse — “Yes,  Johnny,  the  doctor 
brought  twins.” 

Johnny — “Gee!  That’s  what  we  get 
for  having  a specialist!” 


Impatient  guest — See,  here,  waiter,  how  long  is 
at  steak  of  mine  going  to  be?” 

Waiter — “ About  twelve  inches,  sir. 


Irate  teacher  — “ 1 never  saw  such  a stupid  child  ! What 
was  your  head  made  for,  anyway?” 

Scared  pupil — “ Er — er — to  hold  me  hat  on,  I guess. 


. Banning — “ What  sort  of  game  did  you  see  the  most 

“ Your  new  cook  is  awfully  tall,  isn  t she  ? on  your  hunting  trip?’1  ,, 

14  Yes  ; but  I don’t  think  she  ’ll  stay  long.  Gunning — “ Oh,  hang  it,  poker,  as  usual. 


Think  of  It! 

/^\UT  IN  Northport,  Long  Is- 
land,  where  every  man 
dwells  in  peace  under  his  own 
vine  and  fig  tree  (even  if  they  do 
publish  law  books  out  there), 
lives  one  Mr.  G.,  who  has  a farm 
on  the  outskirts. 

This  gentleman  had  a wife 
who  was  famous  the  country 
round  as  a model  of  the  domestic 
virtues. 

She  worked  from  the  cock 
crow  to  the  hours  nearing  mid- 
light.  On  Sundays  she  was 
privileged  to  go  to  church  (but 
this  meant  getting  up  early  to 
attend  to  the  children  and  many 
household  duties)  and  hear  from 
the  pulpit  the  wonders  of  man- 
kind, as  well  as  the  manifold 
sins  of  womankind,  especially 
her  first  sin  which  brought  de- 
struction on  the  world,  etc. 

Well,  finally  Mrs.  G.  died. 

Several  of  the  neighbors  were  sym- 
pathizing with  the  bereaved  husband, 
and  between  his  sobs  he  was  heard  to 
say,  “Yes,  she  was  a good  wife.  I 
could  not  feel  worse  if  one  of  my  best 
horses  had  died.” 

If  this  is  not  an  exhibition  of  the  old 
feudal  instinct,  what  is? 


An  Appreciation  (?)  of  a 
Contemporary. 

The  United  States  has  a new 
paper,  which  is  said  to  be  hu- 
morous by  its  editors,  who,  with 
due  modesty,  declare  their  pub- 
lication to  be  the  American 
Punch. 

A fair-minded  examination, 
however,  shows  its  claims  upon 
our  sense  of  humor  to  be  slight, 
indeed.  The  jokes  display  all 
the  finesse  of  a street-car  adver- 
tisement. Those  that  do  not 
smell  of  the  oil  lamp  savor  of  the 
public  house.  That  there  are 
amid  the  painful  efforts  some 
pieces  of  near-wit  cannot  be  de- 
nied, but,  on  the  whole,  it  is 
spoiled  by  the  overstrain  that 
obtrudes  at  every  point. 

The  most  significant  feature 
of  the  first  number  is  the  fact 
that  the  editors  recognize  woman 
suffrage  to  be  so  prominent  in  the  popu- 
lar mind  as  to  deserve  a thrust  on  nearly 
every  page.  We  are  glad  to  record  this 
single  piece  of  penetration  on  the  part 
of  the  new  venture — it  is  the  one  ray  of 
light  in  general  gloom.  But  the  jokes 
on  woman  suffrage  are  so  stricken  with 
years  that  it  is  painful  to  behold  their 
wrinkled  faces.  The  only  great  point 
which  seems  to  have  escaped  their  livid 
imagination  is  that  the  husbands  of 
women  suffragists  are  all  at  home  darn- 
ing socks,  pacifying  squalling  infants, 
and  doing  the  family  wash. 

The  burden  of  the  clever  phillipics  is 
that  women  suffragists  are  ugly  old 
frights,  that  they  wear  hobble  skirts  or 
trousers,  and  that  they  smoke  cigar- 
ettes. The  editor  sees  no  humor  in  the 
“antis”  and  divekeepers  standing  on 
the  same  platform  to  protect  the  home 
or  running  about  the  country  preaching 
and  exemplifying  the  moral  precept  that 
women  should  stay  at  home. — The 
Woman  Voter. 


A BOOTH  FOR  THE  SALE  OF  ALL  SUFFRAGE  LITERATURE, 
INCLUDING  “ JUDGE.” 


A little  girl  was  asked  what  she  called 
her  new  kitten.  “Anti-Suffragist,”  she 
said.  Sometime  later  the  same  inter- 
rogator called.  “I  don’t  call  my  kitty 
Anti-Suffragist  any  more,”  the  child  in- 
formed her.  “I  call  her  just  Suffragist.” 
“Why  the  change?”  asked  the  caller. 
“’Cause  now  my  kitty  has  her  eyes 
open,”  was  the  answer. 


A Student  of  the  Congressional 
Record 

Mrs.  Emily  Montague  Bishop,  well 
known  as  a lecturer  at  Chautauquas  and 
before  women’s  clubs  and  as  the  author 
of  “The  Road  to  Health,”  “Seventy 
Years  Young,”  etc.,  has  crowned  the 
activities  of  a useful  life  with  a unique 
achievement.  No  one  before  her  ever 
thought  the  Congressional  Records  fas- 
cinating reading.  Now  suffragists  and 
others  are  taking  up  these  supposedly 
dry  sheets  and  finding  them  a source  of 
keen  delight.  In  a reading  which  she  is 
now  delivering,  entitled  “Man,  Woman’s 
Equal,  ” Mrs.  Bishop  depicts  scenes  from 
the  United  States  Senate  which  are  true 
to  life  and  which  cleverly  show  up  the 
meanderings,  frailties,  and  peculiarities 
of  the  masculine  politician  in  such  a 
way  as  to  remove  any  lingering  feelings 
of  strong  superiority  on  the  part  of  the 
men  toward  feminine  minds.  It  is  all 
done  with  a hilariousness  which  delights 


Mrs.  EMILY  MONTAGUE  BISHOP. 


the  men  who  hear  her  as  much  as  the 
women. 


Judge’s  Prize  Contest 

Why  Should  Women  Vote  ? 

Judge  offers  a first  prize  of 

$ 1 0 I^OLD 

for  the  best  ten  reasons,  and 

Five  Yearly  Subscriptions  to  Judge 

(Value  $5  each.) 

for  the  five  next  best  collections  of  ten  reasons. 
Conditions  : 

1.  Contributions  must  not  contain  more  than 

500  words. 

2.  They  must  be  received  at  this  office  before 

5 30  p.m.  on  Thursday,  Feb.  29. 

3.  They  should  be  directed  to  Judge  Suffrage 
Editor,  225  Fifth  Avenue  N.  Y. 

The  judges  will  be  chosen  from  among  the 
leaders  of  the  Suffrage  Party. 


The  Fly  and  the  Auto. 

(Adapted.) 

A FLY  upon  an  auto  lit, 

And  thought  he  caused  the  sound. 
He  thought  he  made  it  chug  and  spit, 
And  made  the  wheels  go  round. 

This  very  busy  little  fly 
Has  won  undying  fame 
For  self-conceit  amazing  high, 

And  ignorance  the  same. 

But  now  a rival  do  we  find — 

A fly  with  ardor  keen. 

She  says,  “I’ll  just  climb  on  behind 
And  stop  the  big  machine.” 

We  see  her  strive  and  strive  in  vain, 
And  soon  she  will  desist; 

For  the  “anti”  fly  cannot  restrain 
The  auto  suffragist. 

An  Embarrassing  Moment. 

When  an  old  friend  drops  in  to  see 
you,  and  you  begin  to  tell  him  how  well 
you  have  got  along  since  last  you  met 
and  how  greatly  you  have  prospered — 
And  you  see  that  he  does  not  believe 
you— 

And  he  sees  that  you  see  he  does  not 
believe  you — 

And  he  tries  to  act  as  though  he  be- 
lieved you — 

And  you  see  that  he  tries  to  act  as 
though  he  believed  you — 

And  he  sees  that  you  see — 

That  is  probably  the  most  embarrass- 
ing moment  that  can  happen  for  both  of 
you. 


Hoots  from  a Wise  Owl. 

There  are  never  any  deductions  from 
the  wages  of  sin.  They  are  paid  in  full. 

A joke  is  not  necessarily  a crazy  one 
because  it  is  cracked. 

In  some  grades  of  society  it  is  the 
impossible  person  who  is  the  most  prob- 
able. 


Grocers  may  come  and  coal  men  may 
go,  but  there  is  never  any  short  measure 
in  the  peck  of  trouble. 

Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  general 
average  of  the  available  lacteal  fluid 
supply,  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
never  needs  to  be  pasteurized. 

In  the  voyage  through  life,  it  isn’t  al- 


Elastic  hat  stays  for  expansive  millinery  would 
eliminate  the  use  of  the  barbarous  hat-pins. 


ways  the  biggest  blower  who  raises  the 
wind  most  effectively. 

In  courtship  many  a man  fails  to  land 
on  his  feet  until  he  has  fallen  on  his 
knees. 

Speaking  of  oratory,  did  you  ever  ob- 
serve that  the  telephone  book  is  full  of 
ringing  addresses? 


It  is  in  a landed  aristocracy  more  than 
any  other  that  men  are  known  by  their 
deeds. 

Some  people  refuse  utterly  to  take 
stock  in  purgatory,  although  they  know 
that  it  has  not  now  and  never  will  have 
any  water  in  it. 

The  average  woman  does  not  really 
care  particularly  for  the  last  word,  pro- 
vided she  can  b«»gin  all  over  again  after 
somebody  else  has  spoken  it. 

Do  not  fail  to  remember  that  a man 
may  be  tremendously  stuck  on  himself 
and  yet  be  a very  loose  character. 

We  have  known  men  to  be  positively 
brilliantly  bright  and  yet  remain  the 
possessors  of  the  shadiest  of  reputations. 

The  man  with  money  to  burn  is  often 
unconsciously  doing  no  more  than  add- 
ing to  the  fuel  of  purgatory. 

The  beggar  who  is  after  dinner  has  to 
make  his  after-dinner  speech  generally 
before  he  gets  it. 

Beware  of  the  girl  with  the  steely 
eye.  It  is  she  of  whom  the  novelists 
write  that  “Carlotta  looked  daggers  at 
him.” 

The  reason  why  some  folks  have  the 
wool  pulled  over  their  eyes  is  that  it 
would  be  an  almost  monumental  task  to 
pull  it  over  their  ears. 

The  trouble  with  income,  on  the 
whole,  is  that  most  of  us  cannot  live 
within  it  any  more  than  we  can  live 
without  it. 


Genesis. 

Pharaoh  had  just  dreamed  of  the  seven 
full  and  the  seven  blasted  ears  of  corn. 

“You  are  going  to  invent  a new  kind 
of  breakfast  food,”  interpreted  Joseph. 

The  early  bird  is  usually  served  with 
a large,  cold  bottle  on  the  side. 


FROM  ONE  EXTREME  TO  ANOTHER. 


A TOTAL  ECLIPSE 


Reflections  of  Uncle  Ezra. 

By  ROY  K.  MOULTON. 

TTAGE  BUTTS,  of  our  town,  is  takin’ 
A a correspondence-school  course  in 
English  and  hopes  to  become  sportin’ 
writer  for  some  newpaper;  but  the 
question  is  what  he  needs  of  English. 

There  are  some  civil  service  employes 
who  are  not.  Some  of  them  are  very 
uncivil. 

A sure  way  to  kill  a flea  is  to  hit  him 
on  the  head  with  a sledgehammer. 

Eb  Frisby  and  Ren  Purdy  ain’t  spoke 
in  nineteen  years,  on  account  of  a line 
fence.  Eb  moves  it  every  night,  and  in 


A FAMILY  TRAIT. 

“ How  do  you  come  by  the  ability  to  paint?" 

“ Well,  it  seems  to  run  in  the  family.  I have  a mother  and  three  sisters  ” 


SPORTING  TERM  — “TAKING  THE  COUNT.” 


around.  They  are  the  married  ones  and 
the  single  ones. 

The  fellers  that  never  took  a drink  in 
their  lives  are  generally  the  ones  that 
demand  the  most  credit  for  stayin’ 
sober. 

Amos  Hanks  is  away  at  college  get- 
tin’  a liberal  education,  and  his  father 
is  stayin’  hum  and  gettin’  an  education 
in  liberality. 

Lafe  Purdy  went  to  war,  but  is  havin’ 
some  trouble  tryin’  to  pose  as  a hero, 
bekus  he  was  shot  right  where  his  sus- 
penders cross. 

Hank  Tumms  is  an  expert  interior 
decorator.  He  decorates  his  own  in- 
terior mostly,  down  at  the  Golden  Nug- 
get saloon. 

Somehow  or  other,  it  seems  that  a 
feller  that  does  embroidery  and  fancy 
work  never  gets  to  be  President. 


the  morning  Ren  gets  up  and  moves  it 
back ; and  each  one  has  had  to  put  a 
second  mortgage  on  his  farm  bekus  he 
had  been  so  busy  diggin’  postholes.  Two 
new  lawyers  have  moved  into  town,  and 
circuit  court  is  thinkin’  some  of  runnin’ 
nights. 

There  are  5,783,983  book  agents  in 
this  country  and  8,964,873  men  sellin’ 
life  insurance. 

Arsenic  and  strychnine  are  very  in- 
jurious to  the  health  if  taken  immoder- 
ately. 

Home  ties  are  those  which  you  wear 
only  around  home.  They  are  generally 
selected  by  your  wife. 

Amos  Hanks  says  he  is  strong  for 
chafin’-dish  cookery.  A feller  has  to  be 
strong  for  that. 

Men  who  wear  those  fuzzy  fedoras  are 
not  necessarily  insane.  Some  receive 
them  as  birthday  presents  and  have  to 
wear  them. 

If  all  the  energy  wasted  in  tryin’ to 


swat  flies  were  harnessed 
and  concentrated,  it  would 
operate  all  of  the  railroad 
trains  in  this  country  and 
seventeen  in  Canada. 

There  ain’t  no  use  in 
tryin’  to  make  a silk  purse 
out’n  a pig’s  ear,  for,  even 
if  a feller  did,  he  wouldn’t 
have  nothin’  much  to  put 
in  it. 

A feller  that  will  give 
his  wife  a washboard  for  a 
birthday  present  may  be  a 
gentleman  and  a scholar, 
but  he  is  no  philanthropist. 

While  the  rest  of  the  fel- 
lers were  gone  to  the  war, 
Hank  Purdy  served  his 
country  faithfully,  too — on 
the  circuit  court  jury. 

There  are  only  two 
kinds  of  women  who  know 
how  to  make  a man  stand 


« a prrERsi.i 


Little  boy — “ I can’t  remember  what  pop  sent  me  for.  It 
was  either  bread  or  tobacco.  He  said  to  have  it  charged.” 
Grocer — “ It  was  bread.  He  always  has  money  enough 
for  tobacco.” 


Can  you  tea  me  if  this  is 


"Is  that  BiacKCR  Street  ? " 


'Htv,  sonny!  TWrs  BietKER  Street 


’Vlea,  vw»M  ovou  wo" 

ABOUT  THAT  ? Lift  IN  * 
etc,  C'TT.au  shut.  I J ^ 

CKtSS  I’u  HAYE  To 
TRY  KY  Wnk  Italian 
ok  SOMEBODY  If  M 
I’ia  soinu  to  get 
•TO  C>atKE«.STR6t 
Today." 


w 


THE  BABBLE  OF  BABEL. 


Grandmother  and  Geraldine. 


<4"\V7HEN  John  asked  permission  to 
’v  pay  his  addresses  to  me,  father 
investigated  his  character  very  care- 
fully before  consenting,”  said  grand- 
mother. 

‘‘The  first  time  Reginald  called,  I 
looked  up  his  father  in  Bradstreet’s  be- 
fore risking  any  further  damage  to  the 
drawing-room  furniture,”  laughed  Ger- 
aldine. 

‘‘And  when  John  asked  me  to  marry 
him,  I told  him  I would  think  it  over. 
A girl  didn’t  throw  herself  at  a man  in 
my  day.  ” 

‘‘She  doesn’t  now,  either.  When 
Reginald  asked  me,  I said  I would 
answer  him  as  soon  as  my  father  saw  his 
father  and  ascertained  if  he  would  make 
the  right  kind  of  a settlement  on  us.” 

‘‘For  months  father  and  mother  were 
the  only  ones  who  knew  that  John  and  I 
were  engaged.  I wouldn’t  have  had  any- 
body know  for  worlds,”  said  grand- 
mother. 

‘‘I  sent  the  notice  to  the  newspapers 
the  next  morning  after  Reginald  pro- 
posed,” acknowledged  Geraldine.  ‘‘It 
requires  a lot  more  nerve  for  a man  to 
break  an  engagement  after  it  has  been 
announced.  ” 

‘‘As  soon  as  we  became  engaged,” 
mused  the  elder  lady,  ‘‘I  set  to  work 


By  TERRELL  LOVE  HOLLIDAY. 

hemming  towels  and  table  linen.  I had 
already  pieced  quilts  and  made  comforts 
in  anticipation  of  the  day  when  I should 
have  a home  of  my  own.” 

‘‘It’s  up  to  Reginald  to  provide  the 
comforts  of  home,  if  we  have  one — 
which  I hope  we  shall  not.  I prefer  to 
live  in  a hotel,”  asserted  the  younger 
woman  emphatically. 

‘‘John  warned  me  that  his  board  was 
seldom  more  than  bacon  and  cornbread, 
but  I was  willing  to  share  it  with  him.” 


HASN’T  GOT  IT  WITH  HIM. 
Teacher  (disgustedly) — “ My  boy,  my  boy, 
where  is  your  intuition  ?’  ’ 

Boy — ‘‘  I ain’t  got  any.  I ’m  only  here  a few 
days,  and  I didn't  know  what  I had  to  git.” 


‘‘I  am  willing  to  share  Reginald’s 
board  as  long  as  he  can  afford  to  board 
where  they  keep  a good  chef.” 

“Sundays,”  said  grandmother,  “John 
saddled  old  Bess,  put  the  pillion  on  be- 
hind for  me,  and  we  rode  twenty  miles 
to  church.” 

“I  have  promised  Reginald  that  he 
may  stay  at  home  and  read  the  Sunday 
supplements  if  he  will  provide  a limou- 
sine for  my  church-going.” 

“I  wove  the  cloth  and  did  all  the  sew- 
ing for  myself  and  my  six  children,” 
said  grandmother. 

“Women  married,  then,  to  get  work,  ” 
declared  Geraldine.  “Now  they  marry 
so  they  can  quit  work.” 

“Yes,”  asserted  the  old  lady,  “the 
modern  woman  ‘toils  not,  neither  does 
she  spin.  ’ ” 

“I  am  acquainted  with  several  who 
have  to  toil  pretty  hard  and  spin  many 
fairy  tales  in  order  to  work  their  hus- 
bands for  a new  gown.  If  Reginald 
turns  out  like  that,  I’ll  renovate  his 
ideas  or  Reno-vate  him.” 

“At  the  pace  we  are  traveling  now,  I 
don’t  know  where  we  shall  land,” 
mourned  grandmother. 

“Neither  do  I,”  admitted  Geraldine; 
“but  the  going  is  good.  Why  borrow  a 
tire  until  you  have  a blowout?” 


An  Average  Day’s  Tips  for  Mr. 
Tipton. 

By  HARVEY  PEAKE. 

7.00  a.  m. — Tips  shade  of  night  lamp  to 
get  the  time. 

7.05  a.  m. — Tips  bed  into  upright  posi- 
tion to  get  room. 

7.15  a.  m. — Tips  basin  to  get  rid  of 
water. 

7.20  a.  m. — Tips  mirror  to  get  light 
for  dressing. 

7.25  a.  m. — Tips  waitress  to  serve 
breakfast. 

7.30  a.  m. — Tips  bowl  to  get  at  oat- 
meal. 

7.33  a.  m. — Tips  urn  to  get  coffee. 

7.45  a.  m. — Tips  chair  to  get  greater 
ease. 

7.55  a.  m. — Tips  tobacconist  to  get 
special  brand  of  cigars. 

8.00  a.  m. — Tips  newsboy  to  get  paper. 

8.15  a.  m. — Tips  driver  of  hansom  cab 
to  get  riae  to  office. 

8.20  a.  m. — Tips  elevator  boy  to  get 
up  to  his  floor. 

8.30  a.  m. — Tips  boy  to  have  office 
dusted. 

9.00  a.  m. — Tips  stenographer  to  get 
letters  written. 

10.00  a.  m. — Tips  operator  of  telephone 
exchange  to  get  party  for  him. 

10.05  a.  m. — Tips  party  for  listening. 

12.00  m. — Tips  elevator  boy  to  get  do.vn 
to  first  floor. 

12.10  p.  m. — Tip-toes  into  cafe  to  get 
lunch. 

12.30  p.  m. — Tips  waiter  for  service. 

12.35  p.  m. — Tips  boy  in  check  room  to 
get  hat. 

1.00  p.  m. — Tips  barber  to  get  shave. 

1.15  p.  m. — Tips  bootblack  to  get  shine. 

1.40  p.  m. — Tips  manicure  to  get  nails 

attended  to. 

1.50  p.  m. — Tips  elevator  boy  to  get  up 
to  office  again. 

2.00  p.  m. — Tips  postman  to  get  after- 
noon mail. 

3.00  p.  m. — Tips  fly  to  leave  his  bald 
spot  alone. 


REFLECTION  OF  THE  BIRDMAN. 
“ How  in  the  world  do  you  do  it?” 


5.00  p.  m. — Tips  elevator  boy  to  get 
down  to  terra  firma. 

5.10  p.  m. — Tips  acquaintance  for  tip 
on  to-morrow’s  races. 

6.30  p.  m. — Tips  taxi  driver  to  get  to 
restaurant. 

7.00  p.  m. — Tips  head  waiter  to  get 
special  table. 

7.30  p.  m. — Tips  waiter  for  service. 

7.40  p.  m. — Tips  boy  to  get  hat. 

7.45  p.  m. — Tips  doorman  of  cafe  to 
get  exit. 

7.50  p.  m. — Tips  carriage  man  for  call- 
ing taxi. 

8.00  p.  m. — Tips  sidewalk  speculator 
for  theater  ticket. 


8.05  p.  m. — Tips  boy  to  get  program. 

8.06  p.  m. — Tips  usher  to  get  seat. 

11.00  p.  m. — Tips  taxi  driver  to  get 
home. 

11.30  p.  m. — Tips  apartment-house  hall 
man  to  get  in. 

11.35  p.  m. — Tips  elevator  man  to  get 
up  to  his  rooms. 

12.00  p.  m. — -Tips  glass  of  brandy  and 
soda  to  get  sleeping  potion. 

12.15  a.  m.-  Tips  eyes  to  get  sleep. 

Modern  Version. 

By  CHARLES  C.  JOKES. 

He  digged  a pit,  he  digged  it  deep — 
Now  comes  the  sudden  shock ! 

He  fell  not  in;  but,  rich  as  sin, 

He’s  selling  mining  stock! 

Ode  to  a Landlord. 

By  a Struggling  Poet. 

Board $ 9.00 

Room  4.50 

Laundry .90 

Total $14.40 

Answer  to  Correspondent. 

Yes,  Harrylde,  I will  advise  you 
frankly  about  the  question  you  ask.  If, 
as  you  say,  your  salary  is  forty  dollars 
per  month,  you  can  easily  afford  to  give 
your  sweetheart  violets  and  chocolates 
and  take  her  to  the  opera  in  a taxicab. 
To  be  sure,  this  will  mean  some  slight 
economies  on  your  part,  such  as  occupy- 
ing a very  small  hall  bedroom,  living  on 
few  and  poor  meals,  wearing  advertised 
clothes,  and  giving  up  smoking;  but  we 
should  be  willing  cheerfully  to  make 
some  small  sacrifices  for  the  darling 
girls. 

Good  Things. 

A good  thing  is  a thing  to  do, 

And  yet  we  seldom  view  one; 

But  still  I can’t  believe  that  you 
Would  rather  be  than  do  one! 


A PROPHECY. 

German  steamers  leaving  Frankfort  for  the  Sandwich  Islands. 


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5 E N T . 


Dame  Fashion  at  Work. 

By  CARLETON  G.  GARRETSON. 

DAME  FASHION  came  down  to  her  office  one  morn, 
With  a step  far  from  light  and  a frown  most  forlorn. 

She  looked  o’er  her  mail,  then  exclaimed  with  a sigh, 

“No  dame  in  the  world  is  more  wretched  than  I ! 

“ Not  a change  in  the  styles  have  I made  for  a week, 

And  to  find  out  the  reason  my  clients  all  seek. 

“For  something  that’s  new  I have  cudgeled  my  brain, 

And  the  tailors  and  milliners  loudly  complain. 

“ ‘We  want  something  fancy  and  costly,’  they  say; 

‘Some  freak  that  will  take,  though  for  only  a day. 

“ ‘Gowns  and  hats  that  ’twill  need  a small  fortune  to  buy, 
From  fabrics,  of  course,  that  are  scarce  and  come  high.’ 

Then  the  dame  called  her  maids  and  said,  “ Scour  the  place 
For  ribbons  and  furbelows,  tinsel  and  lace, 

“ For  feathers  and  buckles  and  gimcracks  and  pins, 

For  here’s  where  a startling  new  fashion  begins.” 

Then  she  grabbed  and  she  sewed  and  she  ripped  and  she  tore, 
And  turned  out  a creation  unheard  of  before. 

Ungainly  it  was,  with  no  semblance  of  sense; 

But  from  Dame  Fashion’s  standpoint  ’twas  simply  immense. 

“ It  will  make  a sensation,  hut  quickly  will  tire, 

And  that,”  said  the  dame,  “is  what  modistes  desire.” 

The  strange  thing  quite  finished,  she  took  up  her  pen, 
Tap-tapped  on  her  forehead  a moment,  and  then 

The  description  of  what  she’d  concocted  she  wrote, 

And  headed  the  squib,  “Up-to-date  Fashion  Note. 

“ The  women  of  style  who’d  be  modishly  groomed 
Should  know  that  the  present  dress  fashions  are  doomed. 

“ The  latest  apparel,  approved  by  elite, 

Is  a marked  innovation,  from  head  unto  feet. 

‘ The  skirt  will  he  fuller,  the  bodice  less  plain. 

And  the  sylph-like  effects  we’ll  no  longer  retain.” 

All  this  and  some  more  she  in  haste  jotted  down 
And  sent  to  the  fashion  sheets  published  in  town. 

And  she  thought,  “How  the  women  will  part  with  their  mon!” 
Then  she  giggled  and  chuckled  at  what  she  had  done. 

“ Poor,  suffering  women  ! W hat  puppets  are  they, 

Who  scoff  at  my  edicts,  but  always  obey  ! ” 

Her  task  at  an  end,  her  old  hat  she  took  down, 

Threw  her  last  winter’s  coat  o’er  her  two-year-old  gown. 

“My  position,”  she  murmured,  “is  simply  immense, 

But  it  wouldn’t  last  long  if  the  women  had  sense!  ” 

Now  you  who  may  read  this  just  ponder  a while  — 

Aren’t  you  one  of  the  slaves  of  the  tyrant  called  Style? 


HER  EXIT. 


Solons  and  Suffrage. 

The  statesman  who  will  ad- 
vance theories  in  the  face  of 
contradicting  facts  must  not 
be  surprised  if  his  utterances 
fail  to  convince  and  result  in 
his  being  held  up  to  ridicule. 

The  following  extracts,  taken 
from  recent  speeches  in  the 
State  capitol  at  Albany, prove, 
if  nothing  else,  that  their 
authors  are  not  students  of 
current  events.  An  occasional 
perusal  of  the  newspapers 
published  in  the  six  States 
where  women  vote  would  en- 
lighten these  gentlemen  con- 
siderably and  perhaps  cause  them  to 
modify  their  statements. 

Every  man  “would”  be  met  on  his 
return  home  every  evening  by  his  wife 
in  a towering  rage  over  politics. — The 
Senator  from  Binghamton. 

The  home  “would”  come  down  around 
our  heads  in  everlasting  ruin. — The 
Same  Senator. 

My  great-grandmother  “would”  turn 
over  in  her  grave  to  reproach  me. — 
Senator  Grady. 

Chivalry  “would”  die  right  down  dead 
in  its  tracks,  a heap  of  rusty  helmets, 
bucklers,  greaves,  and  stove-pipes. — 
Levy. 

It  “would”  take  MM.  Lepine  and 
Bertillon  to  find  in  all  the  common- 
wealth a shirt  with  its  full  complement 
of  buttons,  if  woman  went  out  to  vote 
once  a year. — Cuvillier. 

The  Suffrage  Meeting. 

A PROBLEM  PLAY. 

By  SARA  LYNCH. 

Mah  downtrod  sisters — I mus’  thank  yo’ 
fo’  yo’  applause. 

I’s  yere  to  explanation  ’bout  de  equal 
suffrage  cause. 

Now,  befo’  we  starts  dis  meetin’,  jes’ 
to  show  we’s  in  dis  fight, 

Let  yo’  loud  voices  out  an’  try  to  crack 
dis  roof  to-night. 

‘ ‘ Hooray  ! Hooray  ! Hooray  ! 

We’s  in  de  fight! 

What’s  de  mattah  with  suffrage? 

It’s  all  right!” 

Yo’  fine  enthusyism  is  mos’  worthy  of 
mah  note  — 

It  plain  shows  me,  mah  sisters,  dat  yo’s 
ready  fo’  de  vote. 

(Cries  of  ' We  is  ' ” and  loud  applause.) 

While  I’s  not  yere  to  try  to  cause  no 
family  fuss, 


A FAIR  TRIAI.. 


Course  yo’  ole  man  an’  my  ole  man  am 
all  de  same  to  us — 


Judge’s  Prize  Contest 

Why  Should  Women  Vote  ? 

Judge  offers  a first  prize  of 


$10 


IN 

GOLD 


for  the  best  ten  reasons,  and 

Five  Yearly  Subscriptions  to  Judge 

(Value  $5  each.) 

for  the  five  next  best  collections  of  ten  reasons. 

Conditions  : 

1.  Contributions  must  not  contain  more  than 

500  words. 

2.  They  must  be  received  at  this  office  before 

5 30  p.m.  on  Thursday,  Feb.  29 

3.  They  should  be  directed  to  Judge  Suffrage 

Editor,  225  Fifth  Avenue,  N,  Y. 

The  judges  will  be  chosen  from  among  the 
leaders  of  the  Suffrage  Party. 


Dey’s  men!  We’s  agin  de  men!  . 
Ain’t  dat  de  trufe? 

(Applause  lasting  twenty  minutes  ) 


MRS.  JESSICA  G FINCH  A B LL  B. 

When  Mrs.  Finch  is  not  engaged  in  explaining  from  rost- 
rums and  motor  cars  why  women  should  vote  she  is  attending 
to  her  duties  as  proprietress  and  principal  of  a select  school 
lor  girls  in  New  York  City.  She  is  president  ol  the  New 
York  Equal  Franchise  Society,  and  is  considered  one  of  the 
most  eloquent  and  convincing  speakers  in  the  suffrage  ranks 


We— 

(Interrupted  by  more  applause  ) 

All  right,  mah  sisters,  go 
ahead  at  dat  yere  roof! 

“Hooray!  Hooray!  Hooray! 

We’s  in  de  fight ! 

What’s  de  mattah  with  wom- 
en folkses? 

We’s  all  right !” 

Mah  po’r  sisters,  yo’ll  bes’ 
understan’  de  cause  an’  con- 
sequence, 

If  I starts  mah  talk  dis  evenin’ 
far  away  back  whar  things 
commence. 

When  dis  ole  worl’ wuz  made, 
de  bes’  stasticians  now 
repo’t, 

Jes’  as  free  as  air  an’  sun- 
shine de  Lord  gave  de  right  to  vote. 
But  Adam  he  come  first,  an’,  with  his 
greedy  eye  an’  claws. 

He  grab  dat  right  to  vote  an’  quick  as 
wink  he  make  some  laws. 

Den  Eve  she  come.  An’  innocent,  when 
’lection  day  come  ’bout. 

She  get  her  coat  an’  bonnet,  makin’ 
ready  to  go  out, 

A-turnin’  over  in  her  haid  what  laws 
wuz  fo’  de  bes’. 

Den  sly  ole  Adam  make  a cough,  an’, 
foolin’  with  his  ves’, 

He  say,  “Mis’  Eve,  I mos’  fo’got;  but 
while  yo’  wuz  away, 

Some  mos’  importan’  laws  wuz  passed. 

Yo’  cain’t  go  out  to-day.” 

“What’s  dat?”  say  Eve,  quite  sharp, 
an’  dar’s  rebellion  in  her  look. 

Den  with  a solemn  face  he  opens  up  his 
own  law  book. 

“Now,  we’s  to  mind  all  rules,  Mis’  Eve, 
yo’  sees  by  dis  yere  clause; 

But  dis  yere  udder  one,  Mis’  Eve,  says 
I’s  to  make  de  laws.” 

Mis’  Eve  she  cry,  but  what’s  de  use? 

Ole  Adam  beat  her!  Den 
She  settle  down  an’  left  us  all  to  ’bey 
de  laws  of  men. 

Now,  de  Lord  gave  us  dat  right  to  vote, 
an’  by  dese  facks  we  know  it! 

Arise,  mah  sisters!  Wake  de  night! 
Jes’  claim  yo’  right  en’  go  it! 

(Thiity-six  minutes  tumultuous  applause.) 

What’s  dat,  Mis’  Jacksing?  Yo’  ask 
how  de  vote  gwine  do  yo’  good? 

Oh,  yo’  po’r  an’  falterin'  sister!  An’  I 
doan’  mean  dat  nothin’  rude — 

But  doan’  dat  vote  do  yo’  man  some 
good?  Jes’  answer  dat,  I say! 

En’  doan’  yo’  s’pose  we’d  make  some 
laws  to  help  us  wimmen,  hey? 

(Laughter  and  cheers  ! 

An'  now  we’ll  close  dis  meetin’  like  de 
fashion  of  de  men’s — 

Three  cheers  an’  den  de  “Battle  Hymn 
of  de  Republicans.” 

(Three  hearty  cheers,  and  then  all  march  around  hall  singing 
“There’ll  Be  a Hot  Time  in  the  Old  Town  Tonight.”) 
Meeting  closed. 


COLOR  PHOTOGRAPHY. 


To  Get  There. 

IF  YOU  don’t  believe  that  there  is  room 
1 at  the  top  of  the  ladder,  don’t  stand 
around  and  talk  about  it — climb  up  and 
find  out  for  yourself. 

Don’t  stand  on  your  dignity.  It  prob- 
ably isn’t  large  enough  to  boost  you 
very  far. 

Affinities. 


Compiled  by  FRANK  T.  KOONS. 

Atwood  and  airships. 

Boston  and  Browning. 
Brooklyn  and  the  bridge. 
Bulls  and  bears. 

Corned  beef  and  cabbage. 
Champ  Clark  and  Congress. 
Chanler  and  Cavalieri. 
Dupont  and  Delaware. 
Edison  and  electricity. 
Farmers  and  the  free  list. 
Fowler  and  flying  machines. 
Gaynor  and  Gotham. 

High  heels  and  hobbles. 
Judge  and  jollity. 

Kentucky  and  colonels. 
Morgan  and  millions. 

Madero  and  Mexico. 

Mozart  and  music. 

Peary  and  the  Pole. 

Penrose  and  Pennsylvania. 
Paderewski  and  pianos. 
Roosevelt  and  Ructions 
Railroads  and  rebates. 

Stars  and  Stripes. 

Stanley  and  the  steel  trust. 
Sing  Sing  and  striped  suits. 
Taft  and  the  tariff. 

Taylor  and  Tennessee. 

Texas  and  tornadoes. 

Weston  and  walking. 


You  Take  Your  Choice. 

Netvrich — “How  far  back  does  my 
family  run?” 

Genealogist — “That’s  for  you  to  de- 
cide. We’ll  go  as  far  back  as  you  wish 
to  pay  for,  sir.  ” 


All  highflyers  are  not  high  livers. 


IT  DEPENDS. 

Rastui — “ Do  you  keep  chickens,  mistah  ?” 
Deacon  Jones — “ Not  all  of  ’em  !” 


One  Way  of  Viewing  It. 

The  stars  we  spy  on  Broadway 
Expensive  are  to  see; 

But  the  stars  on  high  no  one«can  buy, 
Yet  one  can  see  them  free. 

The  Lazy  Way. 

Mrs.  Crawford, — “Why  don't  you  try 
the  new  paper-bag  cooking?” 

Mrs.  Crabshaw — “I  would,  dear, 
if  I thought  it  was  as  easy  as  get- 
ting the  meals  in  a paper  bag  at 
the  delicatessen  store.” 

A Modern  Tale. 

A la  Little  Miss  Mullet. 

Little  Miss  Teacher 
Sat  by  a preacher, 

Waiting  some  sweet  words  to  say; 
Up  came  equal-pay-day 
And  much  pleased  the  lady, 
But  frightened  the  preacher  away. 

A Sweet  One. 

“It’s  molasses  that  catches  the 
flies,”  ventured  the  fond  mother 
to  her  eligible  daughter. 

“But,  mother,”  objected  the 
daughter,  “then  they’ll  say  I’m 
too  stuck  up.  ” 

Rather  Indefinite. 

“It  is  the  talk  of  the  town.” 
“Speakingof  the  telephone  serv- 
ice?” 

Success  is  never  found  in  loaf- 
ing places. 


OK  NO  GREAT  VALUE 

He — “ I believe  that  every  man  should  do  something  to  advance  scientific  knowledge.  When  I die  1 shall  leave  my  brain  to  science.” 
She — “ Stingy  thing  !” 


Life. 

ties  of  harmony,  home-making,  and  hap- 
piness are  produced  that  yield  very 
profitable  returns. 

The  government  of  the  state  is  a 
divided  autocracy,  with  the  balance  of 
power  in  a divided  skirt,  and  the  state 
motto  is,  ‘‘United  we  begin,  but  divided 
we  end.  ” 

A Word  to  the  Wise. 

By  CHARLES  C.  JONES. 

What  keeps  us  true  the  long  day  through? 
or  course,  we  seldom  bless  it. 

Right  well  I know  we  ought  to,  though. 
Keep  at  it  till  you  guess  it. 

Bibbs — “I  see  you  are  still  keeping 
your  good  resolutions.  How  have  you 
managed  to  held  out  so  long  ?” 

Nibbs — “ Easily.  I take  a dose  of 

Blabber’s  resolvent  three  times  a day.’* 


The 

'""THE  state  of  Matrimony  is  bounded 
A on  the  north  by  Shattered  Ideals, 
on  the  east  by  Enforced  Toleration,  on 
the  south  by  Dull  Monotony,  and  on  the 
west  by  Hopeful  Possibilities. 

Its  capital  is  Regret,  and  its  other 
important  cities  are  Disillusion,  Race- 
suicide,  Make-the-best-of-it,  Hoping- 
against-hope,  Affinity,  Title-for-tin, 
Two-of-a-kind,  Refuge,  and  the  two 
small  villages,  Love  and  Obey. 

Just  over  the  state  boundary  on  the 
west  are  the  magnificent  twin  cities  of 
Divorce  and  Alimony,  to  which  fast 
trains — on  a thirty-minute  schedule — are 
run  from  every  point  in  Matrimony  ex- 
cept Love  and  Obey. 

The  principal  occupation  of  the  in- 
habitants is  deceiving  each  other,  fixing 
the  blame,  recalling  pre-marital  impor- 


Geography  of  Married 

By  HARVEY  PEAKE 

tance,  discussing  financial  stortcomings, 
cold-storaging  mothefs-in-law,  nagging, 
and  fault-finding  in  general.  In  the 
villages  of  Love  and  Obey  small  quanti- 


CHANGELESS. 

He — “ I suppose  Clara  is  what  you  would  call 
a girl  of  uncertain  age?" 

She — “ No,  indeed.  She  has  been  the  same 
age  for  the  past  five  seasons.” 


Geographical  Grins 

From  HEM1ERT  ADAMS. 


jV/IANHATTAN — A small  island,  en- 
tirely  surrounded  by  water  and 
rubes;  inhabited  by  plutocrats,  aristo- 
crats, and  Democrats.  It  produces 
scandals,  stock  certificates,  and  next- 
morning  headaches.  Favorite  reading 
matter — the  wine  list.  Motto — “Thou 
shalt  want  ere  I want.” 

Philadelphia — A small,  round,  black 
dot  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  map. 
(Additional  particulars  are  not  avail- 
able, as  up  to  time  of  going  to  press  no 
returns  could  be  obtained  either  by  mail, 
telegraph,  or  telephone.  “Central” 
reports  that  they  do  not  answer  her 
call;  every  one  appears  to  be  asleep.) 
Motto — “How  happy  could  I be  with 
ether!” 

Chicago — Built  on  the  lake  shore  to 
show  its  contempt  for  water.  Chief  in- 


varicators.  Manufactures  words,  mere 
words.  Noted  building — the  Treasury. 
(Usually  the  capital  is  in  the  Treasury, 
but  in  this  case  the  Treasury  is  in  the 
Capital.)  Motto — “We  speak,  but  say 
nothing.  ” 


“ You  're  a great  specimen  of  a carrier  pigeon  ! 
That 's  the  second  time  you  forgot  to  mail  a 
letter  for  me.” 


dustries:  one-half  of  the  population  en- 
gaged in  packing  cans  for  sale  in 
U.  S.  A.;  the  other  half  in  packing 
trunks  to  sail  from  U.  S.  A.  Motto — 
“Cum  grano  salis. ” 

Boston — The  Hub  of  the  universe. 
Slipped  off  the  axle  a few  decades  ago 
and  still  lies  where  it  then  fell.  Pro- 
duces beans,  brains,  and  bluestockings. 
Favorite  reading — the  card  catalogue. 
Famous  building— the  Temple  of  Peace. 
(It’s  not  really  in  Boston,  but  they  don’t 
know  the  difference. ) Motto — “We  live 
and  move  and  have  our  beans.” 

Washington,  D.  C. — Population — 
Senators,  orators,  curators,  and  pre- 


SYM PATHETIC. 

“ Poor  little  fellow  ! Never  did  anything  to 
anyone,  and  still  he  gets  an  awful  beating 
every  day.” 

Pittsburgh — A city  whose  history  is 
shrouded  in  a dark  cloud  of  mystery.  It 
stands,  reputedly,  on  the  banks  of  a 
river;  but  as  no  one  has  ever  been  able 
to  see  the  other  bank,  it  may  yet  prove 
to  be  a lake  or  even  the  ocean.  Pro- 
duces millionaires,  steel,  and  steals. 
Reading  matter — “When  it  was  dark.” 
Motto — “Wait  till  the  clouds  roll  by. ” 


“ That  youngster  doesn't  seem  very  intelli- 
gent, but  he  has  a fine  appetite.” 

“ Well,  anyway,  he  may  grow  up  to  be  a 
great  college  athlete.” 


PRECAUTIONARY. 

“ I wonder  why  they  put  that  wire  thing 
over  it  ?’  ’ 

“ H-m,  guess  they  ’re  afraid  it  '11  bite.” 

Reno — A branch  of  Manhattan,  used 
as  a sanitarium  for  the  cure  of  wed- 
galls.  Population — lawyers,  ladies,  and 
a few  plain  women.  The  last  are  native 
to  the  soil.  Reading— letters  from 
home — no,  him.  Chief  building — pulled 
down  since  the  fight.  Song — “Should 
auld  acquaintance  be  forgot?”  Motto — 
“A  fool  and  his  honey  are  soon  parted.” 

Overcoming  Nature. 

There  was  a maid  in  our  town 
Who  did  not  paint,  ’twas  said, 

Because  her  soft  and  dimpled  cheeks 
Were  made  by  nature  red. 

But  soon  this  maiden  quite  petite 
Grew  wan,  her  roses  fled, 

And  all  because  she  followed  out 
The  beauty  hints  she  read. 


“And  They  Kick,  Too.” 

Pat  was  standing  near  the  car  track 
when  he  noticed  an  automobile  coming 
up  the  street,  and  to  be  safe  he  stepped 
back  a little  from  the  car  track. 

The  auto  went  past,  and,  just  as  it 
was  passing,  the  driver  had  an  occasion 
to  turn  off  the  track.  When  he  did,  the 
auto  skidded  on  the  car  track,  causing 
the  back  end  of  it  to  swing  around, 
striking  Pat  and  knocking  him  down. 

Pat  was  seen  to  get  up  and  look  after 
the  car  and  say,  “Now,  p’hat  do  ye 
think  o’  that?  Whin  ye  stand  in  front 
o’  thim,  they  run  over  ye;  and  whin  ye 
git  out  o’  the  way  to  let  thim  pass, 
they  turn  around  and  kick  ye!” 


That  dull  thud  you  may  have  heard  was 
the  noise  of  the  first  fall  this  year  from 
the  H .O  cart. 


A CATACLYSM. 


Willie  s Pocket. 

By  J.  HARBOUR. 

<4^TOW,  Willie, 
you  can  just 
stand  perfectly 
still  and  let  me  see 
what  you  have  in 
your  pocket.  Aft- 
er finding  my 
long-lost  button- 
hole scissors 
there,  I don’t 
know  but  I may 
also  discover  in 
that  pocket  the 
gold  thimble  1 
lost  three  months 
ago.  From  the 
way  your  pocket 
bulges,  I should  think  that—  Willie 
Smythe!  What  under  the  sun  are  you 
doing  with  this  old  belt  buckle  of  mine 
in  your  pocket?  And  if  here  isn’t  cord 
enough  to  last  a department  store  half  a 
day ! And  buttons  and  beans  and  rub- 
ber bands — Willie  Smythe!  Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  that  you  have  eaten  all 
of  the  pulsatilla  pellets  that  were  once 
in  this  bottle?  I wondered  what  had 
become  of  that  new  bottle  of  pulsatilla 
pellets  I bought  a couple  of  weeks  ago. 
and  here  is  the  empty  bottle  in  your 
pocket!  I wonder  if—  What  on  earth 
do  you  want  with  two  of  my  hairpins  in 
your  pocket?  And  here  are  three,  four, 
six  collar  buttons!  No  wonder  your 
father  declares  that  he  can  never  find  a 
collar  button  in  this  house!  And  will 
you  tell  me  what  you  are  doing  with  this 
buttonhook  in  your  pocket  when  you 
wear  only  laced  shoes?  Where  on  earth 


did  you  get  these  three  trading  stamps 
and  what  did  you  expect  to  do  with  only 
three  of  them?  What  do  you  want  this 
cork  in  your  pocket  for  and  where  did 
you  get  half  a dozen  mourning  pins? 
Here’s  a raisin  and  a lot  of  nutshells! 
I suppose  that  you  have  been  eating 
nuts  in  school  and — A pocket  is  a nice 
place  for  an  apple  core,  now,  isn’t  it? 
Well,  of  all  the  dirty  things  I ever  did 
see,  this  handkerchief  of  yours  is  the 
dirtiest!  It  is  as  black  as  your  shoe 
and  you  must  have  been  carrying  it 
three  months!  Here’s  a piece  of  chalk 
and  a peanut  and  a piece  of  peel  and  a 
couple  of  matches  and  some  cracker 
crumbs,  a glass  from  some  one’s  spec- 
tacles, and — Willie  Smythe!  Let  me 
ever  again  find  a picture  from  a box  of 
cigarettes  in  your  pocket!  Where  did 
you  get  such  a 
thing?  What  do 
you  want  to  carry 


II. 


a keyring  for,  with- 
out a sign  of  a key 
on  it?  And  of  what 

use  is  an  old  knife  handle  without  a 
single  blade?  Is  that  all  that  is  in  your 
pocket?  All  but  a few  little  things  of 
no  account?  Well,  if  there  is  anything 
of  any  account  in  your  pocket  I have  not 
been  able  to  discover  it.  Dear,  dear, 
but  you  boys  are  strange  creatures!” 

Old  Home  Week. 

During  a recent  Old  Home  Week  in 
an  up-State  village  the  following  ‘‘never- 
will-amount-to-anythings”  were  in  at- 
tendance: 

John  Wilson  Clarke,  who  was  always 
too  lazy  to  do  the  chores,  came  up  from 
New  York  in  his  big,  seven-passenger 
car.  On  account  of  pressing  work  he 
could  stay  but  a few  hours. 

Ex-Governor  Silby  Kirkwood,  who 


was  naturally  thick-headed  and  half- 
baked  in  his  youth,  stopped  over  in  his 
private  car  to  see  his  old  home. 

Dr.  Willus  G.  Dyer,  one  of  the  best 
known  surgeons  in  the  country,  called 
the  town  fool  when  a boy,  dropped  in 
and  left  enough  money  for  a town 
library. 

Miss  Caroline  Jensen  Atwood,  too 
stupid  to  learn  in  the  old  red  school- 
house,  now  a popular  authoress  and 
playwright,  visited  her  relatives. 

Charlie  Druke,  the  spendthrift,  shut 
up  his  Wall  Street  office  long  enough  to 
attend. 

One  of  the  most  noticeable  features 
of  the  whole  celebration  was  the  absence 
of  the  men  and  women  who  gave  much 
promise  of  originality  and  worth  during 
their  youth. 

Lack  of  memory  in  their  old  age  ac- 
counts for  the  fact  that  not  one  of  the 
old  fogies  present  ever  said  anything 
but  good  of  any- 
body, including 
the  successful 
boys  present. 

Don.  Cameton  Shaftr. 

On  Board. 

Rich  man,  poor 
man,  magnate, 
peerage ; 

First  class,  second 
class,  third 
class,  steerage. 


III. 


When  all  things 
break  our  way  we 
are  on  good  terms 
with  ourselves r, 
when  they  break 
against  us  others 
are  in  bad  with  us. 


^I§W 

mil 


IV. 


IS  THIS  JOHN’S  GIRL? 

Oh,  no  ! John  has  just  come  home  from  college  and  has  met  his  stepmother  for  the  first  time. 


Had  To  Pony  Up. 

By  JOE  CONE. 

SHE  wore  a pony  coat — 

She  always  hoped  she  could ; 
She  was  the  envy  of 
The  little  neighborhood. 

She  wore  a pony  coat — 

It  was  a dandy  fit; 

Her  husband  had  to  sell 
His  horse  to  pay  for  it. 

The  Strange  Part. 

Mr.  Dresser  (with  evening  pa- 
per)— “Here’s  strange  news!  A 
New  York  child  hid  for  thirty 
hours  in  her  mother’s  clothes  clos- 
et!” 

Mrs.  Dresser — “I  should  say  it  is 
strange ! Imagine  a New  York 
woman  not  changing  her  clothes 
in  that  time !” 

The  Reason. 

Ella — “I  see  that,  out  West, 
the  women  are  votng  for  the  re- 
call of  a mayor.  ” 

Stella  — “His  wife  probably 
wants  him  at  home  more.” 


New  drug  clerk — “People  complain  about  our  hair 
tonic;  they  say  it  makes  the  hair  come  out.” 

Proprietor — “Well,  change  the  label  and  sell  it  for 
a depilatory  to  remove  hair.” 


WHAT  THEY  ARE  DOING. 


Agent — “ Where 's  your  ma?” 
Child — “ Choppin’  wood.” 

Agent — “ Where 's  your  pa,  then  ?” 
Child — “ Makin’  her.” 


Shuster. 

Oh,  you,  Shuster! 

You  are  the  booster 
Of  old  Teheran ! 

Don’t  let  ’em  rush  you! 

Don’t  let  ’em  crush  you! 

You  are  no  Persia-an. 

They  want  to  master 
The  sick  Zoroaster, 

At  present  under  the  ban; 
But  you’re  the  physician 
Who  knows  his  condition, 

And  stick  to  your  plan — 

If  you  can ! 

What? 

— William  J.  Lam / ton. 


In  Sox  Signo  Vinces. 

Jones  answered  an  advertise- 
ment and  sent  a dollar  for  four 
pairs  of  socks.  When  they  arrived, 
Jones  looked  them  over  and  then 
wrote  the  advertiser: 

“Socks  received.  The  patterns 
are  vile.  I wouldn’t  be  seen  on 
the  street  with  them  on.” 

Back  came  the  answer: 

“What  are  you  kicking  about? 
Didn’t  we  guarantee  that  you 
wouldn’t  wear  them  out?” 


BASHFUL 

SWAIN’S 

PROPOSAL 


Phyllis,  girl,  when  we  ’re  apart 

The  things  1 fain  would  say  to  thee 
Flow  freely  from  my  bursting  heart ; 

But  when  I rush  away  to  thee 
My  tongue  doth  seem  to  lose  its  art, 
And  I make  sad  display  to  thee. 


Phyllis,  girl,  I long  to  speak 

Sweet  words  of  love,  my  own,  to  thee; 
To  print  a kiss  on  either  cheek 
And  rave  as  when  alone  to  thee; 

But  when  thy  presence  e’er  I seek 
How  painfully  I drone  to  thee! 


Phyllis,  girl,  could  I but  say 

The  half  of  what  I would  to  thee. 

Could  I indite  a virelay 

And  breathe  it  as  I should  to  thee, 
Could  I but  tell  my  secret,  pray, 

Would  my  poor  suit  seem  good  to  thee? 


Phyllis,  girl,  what  shall  I do  ? 

Although  I would  propose  to  thee, 

I fear  I cannot  learn  to  woo 

Or  my  intent  disclose  to  thee. 

I ’ve  done  my  best,  and  now  I 'm  through, 
May  I present  this  rose  to  thee? 


Ah,  bliss ! Thou  holdest  out  thy  hand  ! 

Dost  wish  me  to  come  near  to  thee? 
And  dost  thou  really  understand 

What  I could  not  make  clear  to  thee? 
Thou  really  wilst  be  mine?  Good  land! 
How  slow  I must  appear  to  thee! 

— Carleton  G.  Garretson. 


■ 


» 


1.  Inspiration.  2.  Contemplation. 


3.  Inflation. 


4.  Elevation. 


An  Afflicted  Family. 
tCV/ES,  DOC,”  said  the  mother  of  a 
family  of  nine  to  the  young  doc- 
tor who  had  ridden  sixteen  miles  into  the 
backwoods  in  the  dead  of  night,  ‘‘we  are 
a somewhat  afflicted  fam’ly,  an’,  as  home 
doctorin’  don’t  seem  to  do  no  good,  I 
thought  I’d  send  for  you  an’  see  if  you 
could  straighten  us  out.  Janey  here, 
she’s  got  something  wrong  with  her 
bronical  tubes  so  she  don’t  breathe  like 
she  should.  I been  keepin’  a rag  spread 
with  goose  grease  an’  sprinkled  with  red 
pepper  an’  mustard  On  her  front  chist, 
but  it  seems  to  add  to  her  ag’ny.  Jake, 
he’s  got  a mis’ry  all  up  an’  down  his 
spinal  bone,  an’  I been  usin’  ker’sene 
both  external  an’  internal;  but  it  ain’t 
done  him  no  good.  Lizzie  Belle,  she’s 
about  ready  to  give  up  with  plumbago, 
an’  her  sister  Nancy  has  been  feelin’ 
mean  for  a week.  I think  that  it’s 
skiatic  roomatiz  that  ails  Nancy,  but 
she’s  afraid  it’s  the  new  disease  they 
calls  appendeshetus.  The  old  man  has 
been  turrible  slimsy  for  some  days,  an’ 
Rube,  our  oldest  boy,  is  all  broke  out 
with  a rash  that  shows  his  blood  ain’t 
all  right.  He  had  a turrible  spell  las’ 
night,  an’  I thought  he  was  in  for  cholery 
infantum.  He’s  had  it  off  an’  on  ever 
since  he  was  sixteen  years  old.  I 
reckoned  he’d  outgrow  it,  but  it  grabs 
him  as  hard  now  that  he’s  twenty-four 


as  it  did  when  he  was  younger.  Wisht, 
Doc,  that  you’d  just  turn  yourself  loose 
an’  see  if  you  kin  sort  o’  straighten  us 
out.  ” 

A Novel  View  of  It. 

Little  Dorothy — ‘‘Mamma,  I ain’t  as 
much  relation  to  daddy  as  I am  to  you, 
am  I” 

Mother — ‘‘What  do  you  mean,  dear?” 

Little  Dorothy — ‘‘Why,  I am  only  re- 
lated to  daddy  by  marriage,  but  I’m 
related  to  you  by  bornation.” 


By  their  gifts  ye  shall  know  them. 


STUNG  AGAIN. 

" Yes,  George,  the  ring  is  a perfect  dear;  but 
the  stone  has  a flaw.” 

“ I know  it,  my  dear;  but  love  is  blind.” 

“ Yes— but  not  r/o/w-blind.” 


Give  Me  Your  Hand. 

By  SAM  S.  STINSOV. 

[On  hands  ordinarily  considered  clean.  Doctors  Ma- 
nol  and  Reverdm  isolated  the  series  of  staphylococci, 
numerous  streptococci,  the  bacterium  coli.  the  proteus. 
sometimes  the  pyo  cvnanic.  and  a hosi  of  other  organ- 
isms — New  York  Herald  ] 

Give  me  your  hand,  dear  lave,  and  let 
me  lead 

You  into  fairer  paths,  less  rough  and 
rocky. 

Give  me  your  hand.  Your  hero  does 
not  heed 

The  lurking  dangers  of  staphylococci. 

Give  me  your  hand,  dear  love,  and  let 
me  lift 

You  up  to  wisdom  from  the  depths  of 
folly. 

Give  me  your  hand,  although  methinks 
I’ve  sniffed 

The  presence  there  of  your  bacterium 
coli. 

Give  me  your  hand,  dear  love,  and  let 
me  pay 

The  price  of  your  sweet  health — to 
make  me  sick. 

Give  me  your  hand,  and  let  me  kiss  away 
All  traces  of  your  pyo  cynanic. 

A Suggestion. 

When  the  postman  to  my  portal 
Comes  with  dunning  notes  galore. 
I’m  not  prone  to  shout  and  chortle; 

On  the  other  hand,  I'm  sore. 

This  the  painfulest  of  shocks  is. 

’Twou  Id  relieve  my  mental  ills 
Should  they  place  on  all  mail  boxes 
This  injunction: 

^rosT^iOHinnsiJ 


PERSISTENT  JACK. 

I 've  had  a dozen  proposals  already  this  season. 
Gracious!  Good  ones?" 

Yes.  All  from  Jack." 


Free  Distribution. 

By  GRACE  MtKINSTRY. 

Authors  of  novels  like  com- 
pliments well, 

But  one  sort  of  compliment 
fails; 

Viz.,  “Thanks  for  your  book; 
I have  loaned  it  to  Belle, 

To  uncle,  and  grandpa,  and 
Cousin  Estelle, 

Miss  Hopkins,  Tom  Green,  and 
rich  Mrs.  Van  Pell. 

I’ve  promised  it  next  to  Sue 
Briggs  and  Aunt  Nell.” 

For  how  does  all  this  help 
one’s  sales? 

An  Unfeeling  Brute. 


By  J.  J.  O'CONNELL. 

“Oh,  Henry!”  she  exclaimed 
as  she  ran  out  into  the  hall  to 
meet  her  husband,  with  her  hands 
held  up  in  dismay.  “On  my  way 
home  from  shopping  I lost  my 
pocketbook !” 

“Well,  as  it  happened  on 
your  way  home,  you  couldn’t 
have  lost  much,”  he  replied, 
with  a sigh  of  relief. 

“Oh,  you’re  just  too  mean 
for  anything!”  she  cried,  burst- 
ing into  tears.  “I  was  a fool 
to  tell  you  about  it!  You  should 
be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  make 
such  a remark  when  you  know 
how  badly  I must  feel !” 

“Forgive  me,  my  dear,”  he 
pleaded.  “I  must  admit  that 
what  I said  was  rather  mer- 
cenary. Tell  me  what  you’re  going  to 
do  about  it.  ” 

“Advertise  for  it,  of  course.  There 
are  things  in  it  I wouldn’t  lose  for  the 
world.  For  instance,  there  was  a hair- 
pin I use  to  fasten  my  gloves.  Tillie 
gave  it  to  me  out  of  her  hair  for  luck 
the  day  she  was  married.  Then  there 
were  those  beautiful  lines,  entitled 
‘Twilight  Musings,’  I cut  out  while  we 
were  engaged,  and  I don’t  know  how 
many  samples  and  recipes.  Besides, 
there  was  the  business  card  of  that  man 
who  was  kind  enough  to  offer  to  make 
me  a crayon  portrait  of  you  absolutely 
free  of  charge.” 

“You  needn’t  mention  the  other 
things,”  her  husband 
broke  in. 

“Don’t  be  so  unsym- 
pathetic,” she  pleaded, 

“but  tell  me  how  to 
finish  this  advertise- 
ment I’ve  started.” 

“After  hearing  that 


THE  ULTIMATE. 

A thousand  miles  a minute 

list  of  what  your  pocketbook  contained,  ” 
he  returned,  with  a smile,  “I  guess 
you’d  better  wind  the  advertisement  up 
in  the  orthodox  way  by  stating  that  the 
contents  were  of  no  value  except  to  the 
owner.  ” 

Every-day  Facts  and  Fancies. 

The  most  abused  word  in  the  English 
language  is  “guaranteed.” 

Your  neighbor  always  has  the  best 
furnace — his  house  is  never  cold. 

Not  infrequently  the  manufacturing 
plant  looks  like  the  picture  on  the  firm’s 
stationery. 

Jokes  rush  in  where  sermons  fear  to 
tread. 


A little  suspicion  always  at- 
taches to  the  writer  who  wants 
to  sum  up,  who  wants  to  con- 
sume a large  chunk  of  his  ar- 
ticle in  telling  what  he  has  said. 
Itopens  him  to  the  double  charge 
(1)  of  not  having  made  his 
points  clear  as  he  went  along, 
and  (2)  of  being  painfully  con- 
scious of  the  fact  that  he  has 
not. 

Such  a writer  is  in  need  of 
advice.  When  he  finds  himself 
desiring  to  sum  up,  let  him  re- 
examine his  points.  Maybe  they 
are  not  worth  stating  at  all. 
Maybe  he  will  find  it  worth 
while  to  wait  a year  or  two  until 
he  gets  a better  grasp  of  them. 
If,  however,  he  thinks  it  im- 
perative to  go  ahead  at  once  and 
believes  he  can  make  himself 
clear  in  the  summary,  let  him 
do  so,  then  eliminate  the  body 
of  the  article  and  let  the  sum- 
mary stand  as  the  whole.  Or, 
having  reached  the  firm  conclu- 
sion that  a summary  is  neces- 
sary, let  him  thereupon  revise 
his  article  so  that  a summary 
will  not  be  necessary. 

Summaries  are  very  desirable 
in  textbooks  or  wherever  the 
dissemination  of  knowledge  is 
largely  a forced  process.  But 
when  an  intelligent  person  picks  up  an 
article,  he  wants  to  get  the  points  at 
the  first  reading.  If,  then,  he  wants  to 
go  back  and  sum  them  up  for  himself,  he 
can  do  so,  provided  the  article  is  prop- 
erly written.  The  writer  who  sums  up 
for  himself  too  often  has  nothing  to  sum. 

Mother  Goose  Again. 

By  GEORGE  B.  STAFF. 

Little  Miss  Muffet 
Tried  hard  to  bluff  it 
On  the  election  day; 

But  a challenger  spied  her, 

And,  walking  beside  her, 

He  frightened  Miss  Muffet  away. 

Proper  Place. 

His  friend — “ There ’sh 
a tipless  hotel  down 
street  a little  way. 
Let’sh  go  down.” 

Jaggs  — “Justh  the 
place.  These  other  ones 
here  are  tipping  some- 
thing awful !” 


‘To  Sum  Up.” 

By  ELLIS  0.  JONES. 


LOOKS  LIKE  THEM. 

Wife — “ All  that  you  are  you  owe  to  me.”  Husband — ” Here  are  thirty  cents.  Now  we'  re  square.” 


“AYE,  AYE,  SIR.” 

lmo^ene — “ Oh,  papa  ! Surely  he  must  be  hurt." 

bather — “ Nonsense,  pettie,  those  chaps  are  used  to  hardships. 


A Resolution. 

Made  by  C.  LESLIE  VAN  EVERY. 

OLD  PIPE,  good-by ! 

’Tis  New  Year’s  Day  ! 

And  now  must  I 
Throw  you  away. 

It  hurts,  dear  pal ! 

I always  shall 
Remember  you, 

My  comrade  true ! 

You  now  must  drop 
Until  you  stop 
Upon  the  street 
At  people’s  feet! 

But,  stay!  My  mind 
Is  changed,  I find. 

I’ll  want  to  light 
You  up  ’fore  night — 

Smile  at  yourself! 

Stay  on  the  shelf! 

The  Real  Objection. 

“What’s  the  matter?  Do  you 
object  to  the  heating  of  your  flat?” 
asked  the  rent  collector. 

“No,  it’s  not  that;  it’s  the  fact 
that  you  don’t  heat  it  which  I ob- 
ject to.” 

Great  Scott ! 

Teethes  there  a babe  whose  cries  are 
faint, 

Who  suffers  pain  without  complaint? 

’Tis  not  my  own,  if  there  be  such. 

The  midnight  oil  for  weeks  we’ve  burned, 
And  my  poor  head  for  sleep  has  yearned. 
But  would  I part  with  babe?  Not 
much ! 

An  agreeable  gin  to  brokers — mar-gin. 


A bromide  is  one  who  is  satisfied  with 
things  as  they  are.  Be  not  him. 


HOPE 

K 


THE  ONLY  REAL  WHITE  HOPE. 


The  Coal  Pile. 

Little  blinding  snow  storms, 
Little  winds  that  roar 
Make  the  precious  coal  pile 
Shrink  up  more  and  more. 

On  the  Job. 

Bartender — “What’s  the  mat- 
ter? Eating  all  the  lunch  on  this 
counter!  Have  you  no  home?” 
Bum — “I  am  a food  inspector.” 

The  Select  Twenty. 

Anybody  can  name  twenty  men 
who  might  be  the  greatest — but 
naming  twenty  who  might  be  the 
smallest  would  be  more  difficult. 

The  Only  Way. 

Little  drops  of  perspiration, 

Little  grains  of  grit — 

The  only  way  to  show  the  world 
That  you  are  really  “It.” 

His  Point  of  View. 

Hank  Stubbs — “Looks  like  we’re 
goin’  to  hev  a purty  hard  winter.” 

Bige  Miller — “Thet’s  the  way  it  seems 
to  them  who  are  alius  lookin’  fur  the 
soft  side  uv  ev’rything.  ” 

Memoranda.  * 

Of  course,  the  “higher  up”  a man  is, 
the  harder  it  is  to  get  at  him. 

Just  because  a girl  wears  a pony  coat 
is  no  sign  she  is  a high  stepper. 


COR  ONE  whole  page  His  Honor  is 
A going  to  be  serious,  or  at  least  semi- 
serious.  He  has  been  told  that  there  is 
too  much  frivolty  in  his  makeup,  so 
here’s  where  he  straightens  out  his  face 
and  proves  himself  not  guilty  of  this 
awful  accusation.  Among  the  thousands 
of  women  who  have  adopted  Judge  as  a 
blues-eradicator  are  many  who  believe 
that  women  should  vote.  They  will  greet 
this  page  with  unalloyed  delight.  Others 
there  are  who  look  askance  at  the  idea. 
They  will  first  endure,  but  finally  em- 
brace, His  Honor  hopes.  Still  others 
are  on  the  fence.  Well,  he  will  dismiss 
these  with  the  simple  observation  that  a 
fence  is  no  place  for  a woman.  Any- 
how, he  hopes  this  page  will  be  voted 
(and  here’s  a case  where  all  women  can 
vote)  at  least  an  interesting  innovation. 

The  Difference. 

Clarence — “Pop,  what’s  the  difference 
between  a suffragist  and  a suffragette? 

Pop — “Well,  son,  as  1 understand  it, 
one  wants  to  vote  and  the  other  is  go- 
ing to.” 

Mrs.  Rudolph  Blankenburg. 

It  is  a question  whether  Mayor  Blank- 
enburg, of  Philadelphia,  is  deserving  of 
fame  so  much  on  account 
of  his  high  position  as 
through  his  relationship 
by  marriage  to  Mrs. 

Blankenburg.  This  tal- 
ented woman,  who  be- 
lieves not  only  that  wo- 
men should  vote,  but  that 
• 

they  will,  has  publicly 
signified  her  intention  of 
giving  her  husband’s  city 
an  administration  de 
luxe,  having  for  years 
had  pronounced  views 
on  how  a city  should 
be  managed.  Under 
the  direction  of'  Mrs.  Mrs.  rudoi.ph 
Blankenburg  and  her 
husband,  Philadelphia  may  look  for  an 
awakening  from  her  traditional  lethargy. 

Where  We  Lead. 

Fair  Greece  may  have  excelled  in  art, 

Great  Rome  in  making  law; 

And  yet  we  see  a thing  or  two 

No  Caesar  ever  saw, 

Although  he  traveled  miles  and  miles — 
A thing  to  equal  modern  styles! 


The  perusal  of  history  proves  that 
women  have  played  a very  important 
part  in  originating  the  ideas  that  have 
developed  into  epoch-making  devices 
and  improvements.  The  first  invention 
of  woman  was  consummated  in  the  Gar- 
den of  Eden,  when  Eve  hit  upon  the 
scheme  of  the  distribution  of  burden  by 
implicating  her  lord  and 
master  as  a participant 
in  the  apple-eating  epi- 
sode. Primitive  woman 
seems  to  have  been  re- 
sponsible for  much  that 
to-day  seems  indispens- 
able. She  invented  agri- 
culture and  transporta- 
tion, as  well  as  cloth  and 
pottery  and  the  tools  with 
which  they  were  con- 
structed. While  man 
was  working  out  the  plans 
of  the  war  club  and  the 
bow  and  arrow,  she  pro- 
duced the  mortar,  the 
cooking  pot,  and  the  loom.  The  hoe, 
the  plow,  the  saddler’s  knife,  baskets, 
rope,  yarn,  thread,  cloth,  matting,  the 
cradle,  the  trunk,  valise,  chimney,  pul- 
ley, and  countless  other  invaluable  de- 
vices were  thought  of  by  woman,  while 
her  husband  busied  him- 
self with  pursuits  of  a far 
less  constructive  charac- 
ter. Her  recent  achieve- 
ments fill  countless  pages 
in  the  government  patent 
records.  One  of  her  latest 
is  a car  strap  joined  to  a 
hook,  which  a woman  may 
carry  around  in  her  shop- 
ping bag  and  attach  to 
the  overhead  bar  in  a 
street  car;  or,  since  car 
straps,  made  by  man  for 
man,  are  fixed  at  a man’s 
height,  she  can  hook  the 
device  into  another  strap, 
and  thus  make  herself 
The  only  phase  of  the  sub- 
ject in  which  man  has  outdone  woman 
is  in  the  invention  of  reasons  why  she 
shouldn’t  vote.  True,  he  has  perfected 
woman’s  inventions  and  made  labor-sav- 
ing machines,  and  the  machine  has 
created  an  era  of  industrialism  which 
has  no  precedent  in  the  history  of  the 
world.  Women  have  not  yet  adjusted 


contribute  to  it  as  largely  as  they  did  to 
the  earlier  industrialism  of  the  world. 

Mrs.  Anna  Ross  Weeks. 

Capturing  things  runs  in  Mrs. 
Weeks’s  family.  Her  great-grand- 
father, John  Adams,  helped  capture 
Major  Andre.  She  is  a 
descendant  of  Anna  Dud- 
ley, who  captured  fame 
as  a New  England  poet- 
ess. Right  now  she  is 
engaged  in  helping  to  cap- 
ture the  vote.  Her  espe- 
cial hobby  is  working 
among  the  boy  and  girl 
suffragists. 

Anti-suffrage  Movement. 

( With  apologies  to  Madam  Sherry .t 

Every  little  movement 


Mrs.  ANNA  ROSS  WEEKS. 


BLANKENBURG 


comfortable. 


Has  a meaning 
All  its  own. 

Every  anti’s  feeling 
By  her  wobbling 
May  be  known ; 

And  every  near-thought 
That  comes  a-stealing 
O’er  her  being 
Comes  revealing 
All  her  weakness, 

With  appealing 
Little  pathos 
All  its  own ! 


Women  and  the  Home. 

“Woman’s  place  is  in  the  home.” 

Often  hear  we  this  objection. 

“From  her  hearth  she  should  not  roam; 
’Tis  in  need  of  her  protection.” 

Very  pretty  argument 

’Gainst  the  scheme  of  women  voting; 
But  it  isn’t  worth  a cent 

When  you’ve  doffed  its  sugar  coating. 

If  the  women  ceased  to  toil 
In  their  numerous  vocations, 

Ceased  their  dainty  hands  to  soil 
In  their  many  occupations, 

What  a hubbub  there  would  be ! 

Wheels  of  progress  would  cease  mov- 
ing. 

What  stagnation  we  would  see 
This  frail  argument  disproving! 

Give  to  them  the  voting  right; 

Then  they’ll  pass  some  legislation 
That  will  bring  them  from  this  plight 
To  their  fitting,  proper  station. 

Home  is  woman’s  proper  sphere — 
Surely  no  one  will  deny  it — 

And  the  vote  will  keep  her  here; 
Therefore,  why  not  let  her  try  it? 


HAVE 


TD-NIEHT 


YV7ILEY,  HARVEY  W.— Harvey  W.  Wiley,  Uncle  Sam’s 
” family  physician,  is  the  most  serious-looking  man  in 
Washington.  If  you  took  one  glance 
at  him  you  would  think  sure  that  all 
the  residents  on  Pennsylvania  Avenue 
had  just  nibbled  at  some  chloride  of 
sodium  or  benzoate  of  soda;  a second 
glance  would  convince  you  that  all 
the  citizens  this  side  of  the  Red  River 
of  the  North  had  just  dined  on  toad- 
stools with  ground  glass  on  the  side. 
He  is  the  government’s  gastronomic 
detective;  he  can  taste  a spoon  of 
split-pea  soup  and  tell  the  sort  of  solder  used.  If  he  gets  one 
good  look  at  a sardine  he  can  tell  if  the  fisherman  washed  his 
hands  before  he  went  to  work  that  morning;  when  the  roast 
chicken  is  brought  on  he  can  take  one  bite,  put  his  lips  to- 
gether and  tell  whether  the  meat  has  been  in  cold  storage  in 
New  York  or  in  Philadelphia.  He  himself  is  a wonderful 
performer  with  a carving  set,  and  when  he  sits  down  before 
his  plate  of  meat  he  can  do  a xylophone  solo  with  his  knife 
and  fork.  And  he  likes  a glass  of  beer.  He  weighs  two 
hundred  and  forty  pounds  and  wouldn’t  touch  a plate  of  ice 
cream  in  Augnst  for  a deed  to  the  Sandwich  Islands.  He 
holds  that  by  auto-suggestion  you  can  keep  your  collar  stifF 
when  the  thermometer  is  frisking  around  106;  when  the 
mercury  is  trying  to  climb  out  of  the  tube  if  you  will  but  go 
through  the  motions  of  feeding  gum-drops  to  the  Esquimaux 
and  repeat  softly  with  feeling  the  poem,  “Beautiful 
Snow,”  you  will  have  to  get  up  and  close  the  window 
to  keep  from  catching  cold.  Dr. 

Wiley  is  one  of  the  directors  in  the 
Non-Smokers’  Protective  League  of 
America,  and  believes  that  anybody 
who  pulls  a brier  is  going  straight  to 
the  dogs,  and  knows  to  a certainty  that 
the  person  who  inhales  a cigarette  is 
tobogganing  straight  to  that  region 
where  smoking  is  the  order  of  the 
day.  When  the  rest  of  the  gang  were 
slipping  out  behind  the  barn,  rolling 
corn  silk  into  cigarettes  with  a news- 
paper for  a wrapper,  and  lighting  the 
combustible  with  a sulphur  match,  Har- 
vey was  having  a regular  debauch  by 
himself  in  the  garret  of  his  own  home, 
swinging  one  leg  over  the  arm  of  the 
rocking-chair,  chewing  spearmint 
leaves  and  reading  a dime  novel. 


pm c 


Ry  HOMER  CKOY. 

DENROSE,  BOIES. — Boies  Penrose,  the  leader  of  the 
Republican  Senate,  is  six  feet  three,  and  for  five  years 
has  been  trying  to  become  a baseball 
fan.  President  Taft  has  taken  him 
out  and  coached  him  through  half  a 
dozen  games,  but  when  Senator  Pen- 
rose gets  back  he  is  sure  to  say, 

“That  was  a fine  game;  but  I didn’t 
catch  whether  you  said  it  was  an 
American  or  European  league.”  He 
was  born  in  aristocratic  Spruce 
Street,  Philadelphia,  and  has  such 
blue  blood  coursing  through  his  veins 
that  when  he  cuts  his  finger  it  looks 
as  though  the  indigo  bottle  had  been 
upset.  His  father  was  a professor 

in  the  University  of  Pennsylvania  and  could  stand  Boies  in 
the  corner  in  French,  spank  him  in  Latin,  lock  him  up  in  a 
Greek  closet,  and  send  him  Sanskritless  to  bed.  Boies  was 
so  young  when  he  entered  Harvard  that  the  second  day  he 
was  away  from  home  he  cried  all  night,  and  when  he  went  to 
the  barber  shop  the  first  time  to  be  shaved  — to  be  groomed 
for  his  graduation  oration — his  brother  had  to  go  along,  hold 
his  hand,  and  read  two  chapters  to  him  from  “The  Lives  of 
Our  Heroes.”  His  graduation  oration  was  on  “Martin  Van 
Buren  as  a Politician,”  and  contained  thirty-seven  French 
phrases,  seventeen  Greek  idioms,  twenty-two  abalative  abso- 
lutes, and  a peroration  in  polysyllables.  He  is  a man  of 
his  word;  he  would  rather  go  to  a double-header  with 
La  Follette  than  even  indent  his  word.  His  favorite 
sport  is  horseback  riding  and  he  can 
sit  a steed  like  a bronze  of  General 
Franz  Sigel.  He  has  not  been  inside  a 
theater  for  thirty  years  and  when  he 
passes  down  the  street  in  the  theatrical 
section  he  shuts  his  eyes  and  puts  his 
trust  in  the  chauffeur.  The  Senator’s 
“History  of  the  City  Government  of 
Philadelphia”  is  a weighty  addition  to 
literature,  from  the  standpoint  of  lite- 
rary merit  as  well  as  that  of  avoirdu- 
pois. Senator  Penrose  is  a Biddle  and 
has  a yacht  named  Betty.  Any  one  who 
has  even  passed  through  the  City  of 
Brotherly  Affection  knows  what  it 
means  to  have  an  oil  of  a great-great 
Biddle  on  the  parlor  wall.  A little,  old 
Biddle  is  more  to  be  prized  than  a 
brand-new,  double-screw,  steam  Betty. 


SPORTING  NEWS. 

A new  record  for  Time — all  former  records  broken. 


Primary  Lessons  in  Geography. 


OCEANS. 

/^\CEANS  are  a vast  waste  of  high- 
ly  seasoned  water,  which  keeps 
three -fifths  of  the  globe  out  of  the 
hands  of  real-estate  agents.  They 
are  utilized  by  bathers,  steamship  lines, 
fish,  and  poets;  but  outside  of  that  they 
are  of  little  benefit  to  mankind.  They 
first  came  into  prominence  when 
they  were  referred  to  by  a writer  of 
verse,  who  called  them  “Water, 
water  everywhere,  and  not  a drop 
to  drink.”  Conditions  have 
changed,  however,  since  this  defi- 
nition of  them  was  concocted,  as 
drinks  are  now  served  on  all 
oceans.  The  theory  that  the  ocean 
is  blue  on  account  of  the  bluefish 
that  inhabit  it  has  been  exploded 
by  eminent  scientists,  who  insist 
that  its  blueness  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  when  it  reaches  the  shore 
with  a roll  it  immediately  strikes 
the  bars  and  gets  broke.  The 
oceans  are  a cause  of  great  ex- 
pense to  our  government,  which  is 
attempting  to  fill  them  up  with 


CARLETON  G.  GARRETSON,  lnitructor. 

warships,  torpedo  boats,  and  other 
kinds  of  useless  and  expensive  material. 
Many  strange  things  are  taken  from  the 
oceans.  Pearls,  devices  used  to  help 
keep  the  unearned  increment  in  circula- 
tion, are  found  there,  but  not  in  sub- 
marine mines,  as  one  might  think. 
Lobsters,  one  of  our  greatest  sources  of 


income,  amusement,  and  indigestion,  are 
found  both  in  and  out  of  the  ocean. 
They  are  green  and  raw  when  discov- 
ered, and  turn  red  when  they  are  roasted. 
An  ocean  voyage  has  a strange  effect  on 
some  people.  Though  regular  tight- 
wads on  shore,  they  are  often  ready  and 
willing  to  give  up  everything  when  they 
come  in  contact  with  the  generous 
ocean  swells.  Light  housekeeping 
is  carried  on  extensively  all  along 
the  shore,  also  many  other  aquatic 
pastimes.  The  deepest  spot  on  the 
ocean  is  near  Denmark,  the  driest 
spot  is  Asbury  Park,  and  the  wet- 
test spot  is  Atlantic  City.  Now 
you  know  as  much  about  the  ocean 
as  it  is  really  safe  for  you  to 
know.  The  class  is  dismissed. 

Instead  of  the  Hatchet. 
Ella — “Are  you  and  Bella 
friendly  now?” 

Stella — “Yes;  we  have  buried 
the  hatpin.” 

The  best  of  autos,  run  by  men, 
Miss  a spark  or  two  now  and  then. 


oh,  what’s  the  use?” 


DOMESTIC  HARMONY  IN  UTAH. 
A Dozenette  on  the  Pianorama. 


My  N e w Year’s  Resolutions. 

By  CAROLYN  WELLS. 


ESOLVED , that  in  the  coming  new 
year  I will  try  to  be  less  frivolous 
and  try  to  write  more  for  the  uplift  of 
the  human  soul,  more  for  the  extension 
of  the  higher  plane,  and  more  in  a vein 
that  shall  tend  toward 
the  expansion  of  the  ethi- 
cal culture  of  my  fellow- 
beings.  I shall  strive 
for  fundamental  sincerity 
and  sincere  fundament- 
ally, and  thus,  on  a 
higher  biplane,  endeavor 
to  soar  aloft. 

Resolved,  that  I will 
not,  during  the  whole 
new  year,  even  once 
parody  “Abou  Ben  Ad- 
hem,”  ‘‘The  Blessed 
Damozel,”  or  the  “Ru- 
baiyat. ” 

Resolved,  that  I will 
not  write  jingles  on 
bridge,  the  suffrage,  or 
hobble  skirts. 

Resolved,  that  I will 
write  fewer  stuff,  any- 
way. 

Resolved,  that  I will 
not  lift  points  or  ideas 


from  the  published  work  of  my  liter- 
ary friends. 

Resolved,  that  my  work  shall  appear 
oftener  in  our  best  journals,  and  that  I 
shall  ask  higher  rates. 


Resolved,  that  I will  economize  on 
paper,  ink,  and  two-cent  stamps. 

Resolved,  that  (consequently)  I will 
economize  on  candy,  willow  plumes, 
opera  tickets  and  taxicabs. 

Resolved,  that  I will 
never  allow  anything  of 
a personal  nature  about 
myself  to  appear  in 
print. 


PUTTING  HIMSELF  RIGHT. 

Mrs.  Scant — " Will  you  have  another  slice  of  cake,  Robbie?” 

Robbie — “ No,  thank  you  ; mother  said  I must  refuse  a second  piece,  ’cause 
you  mightn’t  have  it  to  spare.” 


So  Considerate. 

Peevish  person  (in 
crowded  car) — “Madam, 
you  have  pricked  my 
cheek  with  that  barbarous 
hatpin !” 

Stylish  woman — “ Don ’t 
be  alarmed,  sir!  I ster- 
ilize it  every  day.  ” 

Wise  to  the  Game. 

Hotel  clerk  (blandly) — 
“Oh,  yes,  we  havedollar- 
fifty  rooms,  but  they’re 
all  taken.  ” 

Prospective  guest  (in  a 
whisper) — “Where do  the 
speculators  do  business?” 


A SCENE  AT  A NATIONAL  CONVENTION  OF  THE  FUTURE. 

Miss  Chairman  had  considerable  trouble  calling  the  male  delegates  to  order  when  Miss  Peachly,  the  lady  aspirant  for  presidential 

honors,  came  strolling  into  the  hall 


From  Judge’s  Docket. 

By  DONALD  A.  KAHN. 

DVICE  is  cheap,  un- 
less one  goes  to  an 
attorney  for  it. 

He  who’s  ever  begging 
a match  is  a nuisance, 
but  a lesser  nuisance  than 
the  woman  who’s  always 
trying  to  make  one. 

The  man  who  wears  a 
celluloid  collar  and  the 
woman  who  paints  fool 
no  one  but  themselves. 

If  a woman  has  repre- 
sentative  neighbors, 
small  is  her  need  of  news- 
papers. 

The  other  man’s  word 
is  an  assertion,  your  word 
is  truth,  your  wife’s  law. 

If  you  buy  a friend  a 
drink,  you  are  generous. 


FIRST-HAND  KNOWLEDGE. 

Here  comes  my  new  papa.” 

' That  man?  He  isn’t  so  many.” 
How  do  you  know  ? ’ 

” He  used  to  be  my  papa.” 


If,  in  return,  he  buys 
you  one,  he’s  a gentle- 
man. If,  then,  you  both 
let  it  go  at  that,  you’re 
both  uncommonly  sensi- 
ble. 

The  man  who  is  no- 
body’s friend  makes  few 
enemies. 

Difference. 

Knicker — ‘ ‘ Shakespeare 
calls  sleep  ‘Nature’s  soft 
nurse.  ’ ” 

Bocker — “Yes ; but  she 
doesn’t  try  to  marry  rich 
old  invalids.” 

May — “A  stitch  in 
time  saves  nine.  ” 

Fay—" Yes;  but  you 
don’t  want  it  to  save  so 
many,  you  don’t  get  a 
new  dress.  ” 


MULTUM  IN  PARVO. 

Son — “ That 's  the  Yale  seal,  pop  ” 

Father — “ What 's  it  for  ?" 

Son — “ Oh,  to  put  on  diplomas,  and  beer  mugs,  and  things  like  that,  you  know  ” 


An  After  Dirge. 

By  GEORGE  B.  STAFF. 

BROKE,  broke,  broke, 

Of  my  hard-earned  “bor.es,”  oh, 
gee! 

But  it  brings  some  relief  to  utter 
The  thoughts  that  occur  to  me. 

Oh,  well  for  the  beautiful  gifts, 

As  they  rest  in  a fair  array! 

Oh,  well  for  the  haunting  thought 
That  intrudes,  Does  the  whole 
thing  pay? 

And  the  giving  still  goes  on, 

As  it  has  in  the  years  gone  by ; 

But  the  last  of  the  merry  holidays 
Brings  again  the  same  old  cry  : 

Broke,  broke,  broke! 

Not  a single  cent,  oh,  gee! 

And  the  dough  that  I spent  for 
the  Christmas  gifts 
Will  never  come  back  to  me. 

A Fellow  Feeling. 

Knicker — “They  claim  to  see  frost  on 
Mars.  ” 

Subbubs — “Wonder  if  their  water 
pipes  burst?” 

Write  your  resolutions  in  fading  ink. 


A Legal  Mind. 

A Missouri  lawyer  prepared  a will 
for  an  out-of-town  client  and  dictated 
the  following  letter  to  accompany  it: 
Dear  sir — Please  find  inclosed  will 
prepared  in  legal  form.  You  will  sign 
it  in  presence  of  two  witnesses  and  re- 
turn it  to  us  to  b«  laid  away. 


A ,, 


& ^ 


SOMETHING  NEW  IN  CLOTHES. 


The  stenographer,  who  evidently  had  a 
surer  knowledge  of  the  ways  of  the  law 
than  of  her  notes,  made  the  letter  read: 

Dear  sir — Please  find  inclosed  will 
prepared  in  legal  form.  You  will  sign 
it  in  the  presence  of  two  witnesses  and 
return  to  us  to  be  lawed  away. 


Are  You  With  Us? 

We  have  an  idea  that  is  positively 
tremendous  in  its  far-reaching  possibili- 
ties. Step  closer,  please,  while  we 
whisper.  Why  should  the  suffragette 
ladies  have  a patent  on  their  method  of 
securing — or  trying  to  secure — legisla- 
tion? Why,  indeed!  Weourselves 
have  a dominating  desire  for  the 
establishment  of  an  American 
merchant  marine.  We  think  a 
ship  subsidy  bill  might  bring  it 
about.  We  are  looking  for  an  ear- 
nest, aggressive,  picked  company 
of  men  holding  a similar  opinion  ; 
we  want  them  to  join  us  some  dark 
night  and  help  us  throw  rocks 
through  the  Senate  windows  and, 
perchance,  a brick  or  two  into  the 
private  dining-rooms  of  certain 
House  committee  members.  After  this 
campaign  has  succeeded,  we  can  start 
nut  after  a parcels  post  bill  and  a few 
other  little  things  that  are  wanted.  There 
is  no  reason  why  a persistent  band  of  us 
can’t  reform  the  country  by  this  method 
— if  the  bricks  ho|d  out. 


I 


THE  ORIGINAL  BOY  SCOUT. 


►sir* 


\cz 


GRATITUDE. 

First  actor  “ Ah,  my  boy,  I owe  a great  deal  to  that  old  lady.” 
Second  actor — “ Vour  motner  ?” 

Firs!  actor — ‘‘Heavens,  No!  My  landlady.” 


A d j u s t i n 

By  J.  L.  HARBOUR. 

“J  DON’T  like  a seat  at  either  end  of 


the  car,  right  over  the  wheels. 
One  rides  much  more  comfortably  in  the 
middle  of  the  car,  and  I don’t  like  the 
last  car  of  the  train.  It  adds  to  the 
danger  if  there  is  a rear-end  collision,” 
said  Aunt  Ann  to  Jenkins,  her  nephew, 
when  he  was  getting  her  “settled”  in 
the  car  for  her  homeward  journey  after 
she  had  spent  six  weeks  of  exacting  de- 
mand in  his  home,  from  which  she  would 
long  since  have  been  asked  to  depart 
had  she  not  been  a childless  widow  with 
cash  and  stocks  and  bonds  aggregating 
seven  figures. 

‘The  next  time  I start  for  home  from 
your  house,  James,  I think  I’d  better 


see  to  getting  the  section  in  the  parlor 
car  myself,”  continued  Aunt  Ann. 
“Drawdown  the  shade  several  inches, 
please.  There  is  always  more  of  a glare 
of  light  in  the  middle  of  the  car  than  at 
the  end,  and — Won’t  the  shade  come 
down?  I don’t  want  to  sit  by  a 
window  with  a shade  that  can-  “ 
not  be  pulled  down  or  pushed 
up.  I am  always  wanting  to 
change  the  position  of  the  shade. 

Call  the  porter  and  see  if  he 
can’t  fix  the  shade.  Don’t 
jerk  at  it  that  way!  You  will 
only  make  it  worse.  You  will 
—Don’t  put  that  satchel  in 
the  rack,  where  I can’t  reach 
it!  I want  it  left  on  the  seat 
by  me.  Be  careful  how  you 
handle  it!  There  are  things  in 
it  easily  broken.  I wish  that 
you  had  thought  to  get  my  sec- 
tion on  the  other  side  of  the  

CD  1 

car.  You  see  that  that  is  the 
shady  s id**,  and  I never  like  to 
sit  on  the  sunny  side,  and — ^ 

Get  hold  of  the  porter,  if  you 
can,  and  tell  him  that  I shall 
want  a couple  of  pillows  just  as  soon  as 
th •}  train  starts.  I wonder  if  the  sections 
in  the  middle  of  the  car  are  all  taken. 
See  if  you  can’t  get  hold  of  the  con- 
ductor and  find  out.  I must  say,  James, 
that  if  you  had  had  a little  forethought 
you  would  not  have  secured  the  most 
undesirable  section  in  the  car  for  me, 
when  you  know — This  was  the  only 
section  left?  Then  why  didn’t  you  apply 
sooner?  I fear,  James,  that  that  is  one 


reason  why  you  have  not  been  more  suc- 
cessful in  life.  You  are  always  a little 
late  in  doing  everything.  You  sure  you 
got  just  the  right  kind  of  a ticket?  You 
know  that  I want  one  with  stop-over 
privileges  at  Buffalo.  You  have  made 
such  an  unfortunate  blunder  about  my 
section  that  I can’t  feel  comfortable 
about  the  ticket.  Oh,  here’s  the  con- 
ductor! I’ll  ask  him,  to  make  sure. 
Here,  here,  Mr.  Conductor!  Will  you 
please  look  at  my  ticket  before  the  train 
starts  and  see  if  it  is  all  right?  I want 
to  stop  over  in  Buffalo.  My  nephew 
here  bought  it  for  me  and  he  has  blun- 
dered so  in  getting  my  section  that  I 
was  afraid  he  might  not  have  got  the 
right  kind  of  a ticket.  It’s  all  right,  is 
it?  I’m  surprised  that  it  is!  Thank 
you.  I am  sorry,  James,  that  you  put 
me  to  so  much  trouble  about  my  ticket. 
You  sure  you  had  my  trunks  checked 
just  right?  You  know  that — Phew! 
Tobacco!  Mercy  on  us,  James!  if  this 
section  is  not  right  up  against  the  men’s 
smoking  compartment ! And  you  know 
how  I detest  tobacco!  I wish  that  I 
had  allowed  nephew  Henry  Smart  to  get 
my  section  and  my  tickets.  He  never 
would  have  made  such  a blunder  as  this. 


REFLECTION 

“ Since  Nellie's  engagement  how  bright  and  happy 

looks." 

“ Yes  ; a match  does  light  up  a girl’s  face  so.” 

Can’t  you  look  around  a little  and  see  if 
some  man  hasn’t  a section  in  the  middle 
of  the  car  that  he  would  be  willing  to 
exchange  for  this?  Men  don’t  mind  the 
smell  of  tobacco,  and — I simply  can’t 
ride  here  all  day  reeking  in  tobacco  filth  ! 
Put  more  of  my  things  in  the  rack  ! I 
don’t  want  them  lying  all  around  me. 
See  if  you  can’t  raise  the  window  a lit- 
tle before  the  car  starts  and  let  in  a 
little  fresh  air,  and  then  look  up  the 


“ALL  OUT!” 

Miss  Quiggs — “ Did  you  see  the  old  year  oul  ?" 
Mr.  Jiggs  Yes  ; and  it  saw  me  out,  too?” 


MISTAKEN  IDENTITY. 


Youth  (reading  bill  of  fare) — " Is  this  spring  chicken  fresh  ?” 

Waiter  (looking  at  girl) — “ I couldn’t  say,  sir.  I have  never  seen  her  in  this  restaurant  before.” 


porter  and — Another  thing  about  this 
car  is  that  it  is  the  last  car  of  the  train, 
and  there’s  probably  four  or  five  between 
it  and  the  diner,  and  it  always  makes  me 
dizzy  to  walk  even  the  length  of  one  car 
when  the  train  is  in  motion.  Why 
didn’t  you  have  them  put  up  a cot  out  on 
the  rear  platform  of  the  car  for  me  and 
be  done  with  it?  I’d  about  as  soon  run 
on  behind  the  train  as  have  the  last  sec- 
tion at  the  rear  end  of  the  last  car  and — 
The  train’s  starting!  Hurry  off!  The 
next  time,  James,  that  I put  myself  out 
to  pay  you  a visit,  I hope  that — Good- 
by!  Don't  kiss  me  on  the  nose!  I’d  as 
soon  be  kissed  on  the  back  of  my  neck  ! 
I must  say,  James,  that  you — Good- 
by!  Well,  I don’t  expect  to  have  a 
pleasant  ride,  sitting  here  reeking  in 
tobacco  smoke  and  bumped  up  and  down 
and  in  terror  of  a rear-end  collision  and 
three  miles  from  the  diner  and — Good- 
by!  The  next  time  I want  a berth, 
I’ll—  Good-by!” 

The  Winning  Way. 

If  you  would  win  what  you  have  in  view, 
As  the  world’s  great  victors  have  won, 
Don’t  always  do  what  you  want  to  do, 
But  do  what  you  want  to  have  done. 


The  good  resolutions  made  at  New 
Year’s  make  many  miles  of  paving. 


Uncle  Doodie’s  Own  Corner. 

By  CAROLYN  WELLS. 

Friend  Cecylle — I’m  glad  you  wrote 
to  ask  my  advice,  for  I know  of  just  the 
loveliest  gift  for  your  fiancee  that  costs 
almost  nothing.  First,  you  make  a bag 
of  cheesecloth,  about  medium  size — or, 


if  you  prefer,  you  can  crochet  a bag. 
(A  very  inexpensive  way  to  do  this  is 
to  crochet  it  of  bits  of  string  that  have 
come  round  bundles.  The  finer  the 
string,  the  better.)  If  you  crochet  it, 
the  rule  is : Purl  three,  narrow  four, 
slip,  widen,  bind.  Repeat  four  times, 
and  back  again.  But  if  you  make  the 
cheesecloth  bag,  you  may  decorate  it  by 
working  on  it  the  lady’s  initials  or  an 
appropriate  motto. 

Now  for  the  secret  of  the  bag,  and  it 
is  really  a clever  one.  You  are  to  fill 
this  bag  with  cedar  chips  which  you 
have  saved  from  sharpening  your  lead 
pencils ! Of  course  you  should  have  be- 
gun several  years  ago  to  save  your  chips 
— that  is,  unless  you  use  a good  many 
pencils.  What  is  this  for,  you  ask, 
Friend  Cecylle.  Why,  it  is  a bag  for 
the  lady  to  put  among  her  furs  as  a 
preventive  of  moths ! Are  you  not  de- 
lighted?— for,  you  know,  there  is  noth- 
ing like  cedar  chips  to  keep  moths  out. 
A pleasing  motto  to  work  on  the  bag 
would  be,  “What  Is  Home  without  a 
Moth  Bag?”  If  my  instructions  are  not 
clear,  Friend  Cecylle,  do  write  me  again. 


“What  is  the  matter  with  Jones?  He 
used  to  be  a modest  sort  of  fellow,  but 
lately  he  seems  almost  bursting  with 
self-importance.  ” 

“Haven’t  you  heard?  Mrs.  Jones  is 
suing  another  woman  for  alienating  his 
affections,  and  puts  the  damages  at  fifty 
thousand  dollars.” 


“ Want  to  buy  a parrot,  lady  ?” 
" Does  he  swear?” 


“ This  one  don’t,  lady  ; but  I 've  got  one  aboard  the  ship  as  is  a wonder — 
and  only  a dollar  more  !” 


O MPA 


notice 


OWING  To  TH 
UNSETTLED  CONDlT 
A 10%  Redocti 

IM  WAGES  WILL 
E FF  EC  T AFTER  TH*  S 
DATE . ^ 


“AN  OLD  SIGN  OF  THE  TIMES!" 

Cartoon  suggesleJ  to  Judge  by  an  automobile  manufacturer  employing  over  10.000  men. 


“ THE  HONOR  OF  YOUR  PRESENCE  WITH  LADIES  IS  REQUESTED.' 


Straight  Shots. 

From  the  gun  of  DONALD  A.  KAHN. 

’ I 'HE  School  of  Experience  gives  no 
engraved  diplomas,  but  one  has  lit- 
tle trouble  identifying  her  graduates. 

The  Successful  Man  was  out  and  on 
the  job  long  before  Opportunity  came 
a-knocking. 

And  this  same  Opportunity,  by  the 
way,  is  ofttimes  disguised  as  Hard 
Work. 

A good  Indian  is  a dead  Indian.  But 
a dead  Indian  doesn’t  do  much  for  his 
country. 


Optimism  is  a virtue — if  it  is  not  al- 
lowed to  usurp  the  place  of  Industry. 

Tell  me  what  you  eat,  and  I’ll  tell  you 
where  you  work. 

The  time  to  take  a brace  is  several 
days  before  the  day  before  yesterday. 

“ Playhouses  a Specialty.” 

Kent — “So  your  son  is  working  his 
way  through  Yale?  What’s  his  side 
line?’’ 

Flint  (grimly) — “I  hear  he’s  one  of 
the  directors  of  the  New  Haven  House 
Wrecking  Company!” 


Detecting  by  Increased  Weight. 

Mrs.  Clawson — “Why  do  you  always 
weigh  each  of  your  two  cats  before  you 
leave  the  house?” 

Mrs.  Mussett — “So  I shall  know 
which  one  to  punish  if  I come  home  and 
find  my  canary  has  disappeared.” 

As  Usual. 

My  last  year’s  calendars  I shelve, 

But  now  and  then  I mention  heaven* 
When  in  the  place  of  1912 
From  habit  I write  1911. 

* The  other  place  won’t  rhyme. 


THE  STORY  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

MM  < 

CHAPTER  I. 

KMi Ut 

CHAPTER  II. 

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CHAPTER  UI. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Those  Short-lived  Swearoffs. 

Now  we  make  our  resolutions. 

Each  decides  strong  drink  to  shun. 

We’ll  improve  our  constitutions — 

Yea,  we’ll  swear  off,  every  one! 
Evermore  we’ll  man  the  wagon, 

And  cold  water  we  will  seek 
Rather  than  the  foaming  flagon. 

Say,  d’you  think  we’ll  last  a week? 

A Special  Inducement. 

A prominent  society  woman  was 
attempting  to  procure  the  serv- 
ices of  a well-known  opera  singer 
as  a drawing  card  for  an  approach- 
ing “at  home.”  “But  I cannot 
possibly  afford  to  pay  you  more 
than  half  of  that  figure,”  she  ob- 
jected. 

“Then  I fear  that  I cannot  serve 
you.  I never  reduce  my  price,” 
was  the  answer. 

Finally  the  society  woman  said, 
“Well,  if  I pay  you  that  enormous 
price,  I shall  not  arrange  for  you 
to  meet  my  guests  socially,  as  I 
had  intended.” 

“Ah!  if  you  will  promise  that, ” 
said  the  prima  donna,  her  face 
brightening,  “I  will  be  pleased 
to  sing  for  you  at  the  lower  fig- 
ure. ” 

Naughty  Jack. 

Little  Jack  Horner  stood  in  the 
corner, 

But  he  wasn’t  devouring  pie; 

For  there  to  repent  for  a sin  he 
was  sent. 

And  he  said,  “What  a bad  boy 
am  I !” 

In  Modern  Guise. 

A stitch  in  time  saves  embarrassment. 
An  unwise  son  maketh  a mad  father. 
All  things  come  to  him  who  waits — 
at  least  verbally. 

’Tis  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  re- 
ceive— slams. 

A rolling  stone  gathers  momentum. 

By  their  boots  ye  shall  know  them. 
When  in  Rome  order  spaghetti. 

The  pay ’s  the  thing. 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  so- 
ciety editor.  — R#km  Gilmore  Stoll. 

A Classic  Instance. 

When  Handel  had  insomnia, 

In  place  of  counting  sheep, 

He  wrote  a lullaby,  and  so 
Composed  himself  to  sleep. 


’Tis  sweet  to  love,  but,  oh,  how  sour 
To  love  a girl  with  scanty  dower! 


The  Flag  and  the  Faithful. 

By  WILLIAM  J LA  MPT  OS. 

(A  Washington  woman  has  made  a loud  outcry  to  the  Sec- 
retary of  War  to  reprimand  the  soldiers  at  the  government 
aviation  station  for  burying  their  faithful  dog.  “Muggsie." 
wrapped  in  the  Stars  and  Stripes  ) 

Ah,  Muggsie,  good  and  faithful  dog! 
Gone  to  your  rest ! 

You  served  your  country  and  your  flag 
The  very  best 

That  lay  within  your  humble  power, 

And  in  that  far 

Have  been  much  better  than  some  men 
And  women  are. 

As  you  had  lived,  good  dog,  you  died, 
And  it  is  meet 

The  flag  you  served  your  best  should  be 
Your  winding  sheet. 

Trust  Them  for  That. 

Since  the  trusts  got  into  control,  the 
law  of  supply  and  demand  still  works. 
There  is,  however,  always  demand 
enough  to  raise  prices,  but  never  supply 
enough  to  lower  them. 


A Row  with  Books. 

G . ARRET,  Reviewer 

[In  this  department  are  criticized,  usu 
ally  unfavorably,  all  books,  periodicals, 
pamphlets,  posters,  and  printed  matter 
of  whatsoever  nature.  Nothing  sent  us 
will  be  returned,  no  reviews  already  pre- 
pared by  the  authors  will  be  given  atten- 
tion, and  no  bribe  (unless  very  larg«  ) 
will  assure  the  sort  of  comment  desirable 
to  the  publishers  of  the  matter  reviewed.] 

“Essay  on  Silence,”  by  Theo 
Dore.  A very  wordy  book,  in 
which  the  author  shows  an  utter 
lack  of  familiarity  with  his  sub- 
ject. Some  of  his  other  published 
works  indicate  just  as  clearly  what 
silence  consists  of;  therefore  it  is 
difficult  to  see  why  this  one  was 
written.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  no 
reader  will  waste  his  money  on 
“Silence.  ” 

“Why  Women  Should  Not  Vote,” 
by  Harry  Capman  Chatt.  This  is 
not  a book  at  all,  but  a scratch 
pad.  The  only  lines  worthy  of 
mention  contained  in  it  are  ruled 
lines  The  work  may  be  had  at 
all  good  stationers. 

“How  To  Tell  a Good  Play  from 
a Lemon,”  by  Al.  N.  Dahle.  An 
excellent  character  study  and  au- 
tobiography of  the  author,  but  the 
subject  suggested  by  the  title  of 
the  book  is  not  touched  upon,  ex- 
cept in  an  appendix.  This  can  be 
operated  upon  and  removed  if  found 
painful  to  the  playwrights  to  whose 
offerings  it  refers. 

“The  Good  Accomplished  by  the 
Last  Session  of  the  State  Legis- 
lature,” by  Lickem  Stuffins.  This 
book  contains  no  reading  matter  to 
speak  of  and  but  one  illustration, 
as  follows:  O.  It  has  been  strongly 
criticised  by  the  great  authority,  T. 
Murphy  Hall,  but,  in  the  vernacular, 
every  knock  is  a boost;  hence  it  may 
become  popular. 

“Why  I Have  Stopped  Building 
Libraries,”  by  A.  N.  Drew.  A sad 
tale  of  dissolution  and  misfortune,  most 
of  which  was  taken  from  the  minutes  of 
the  Supreme  Court.  The  book  has  an 
excellent  moral  and  should  be  a best 
seller. 

“The  Great  National  Waist,  and 
What  To  Do  about  It,”  by  W.  H.  Daft. 
In  this  book  is  advocated  the  conserva- 
tion of  moving  expenses  by  making  no 
changes  in  the  tenancy  of  the  White 
House  in  1912.  The  book  is  meeting 
with  more  or  less  adverse  comment. 


The  International  Good  Resolutions 
Club  is  now  holding  its  annual  session. 


MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNYARD-FOWL  GIVE  A RECEPTION. 


WORTH  THE  COST. 

“ Can  I trust  you  with  an  important  message,  my  boy?” 

“ You  sure  can,  boss  Wot  is  it,  love,  finance,  or  high  jinks  ? 
’Cause  high  j.nks  I charges  for  ” 


Culinary  Comments. 

\/OUR  refrigerator  won’t 
* be  cold  if  you  are  cold 
to  the  iceman. 

The  most  expensive  reci- 
pes are  often  found  in  the 
cheapest  cook  books. 

Even  if  your  husband 
isks  for  a rare  steak,  he 
doesn’t  want  one  that  isn’t 
well  done. 

When  you  make  an  in- 
ventory of  your  kitchen  fix- 
tures, don’t,  unless  you  are 
the  lady  yourself,  include 
the  cook. 

Should  your  husband  re- 
fuse to  indulge  in  the  culi- 
nary delicacies  that  you 
originate,  don’t  feel  bad; 
he  won’t. 

Endeavor  to  bear  in  mind 
the  fact  that  a pudding 
should  not  be  made  so  it 
will  be  best  served  from  a 
tureen. 

If  salt  water  leak  from 
the  freezer  into  the  ice 
cream,  don’t  mourn  and 
don’t  throw  the  mixture 
away;  warm  it  up  for 
cream  gravy. 

While  remembering  that 
a man’s  heart  is  reached 
by  his  stomach,  don’t  forget  that  his  dys- 
pepsia is  reached  in  the  same  manner. 

If  your  husband  brags  of  his  forbear- 
ance, wait  till  eggs  are  selling  for  eighty 
cents  a dozen,  then  make  a sponge  cake 
every  day. 

Boast  all  you  wish  of  the  healthful- 
ness of  the  food  you  prepare,  but  don’t, 
at  the  same  time,  have  your  cook  book 


“ALL  BUT—.” 


sandwiched  between  such  volumes  as 
the  “Family  Doctor’’  and  “How  To  Cure 
Indigestion.  ” 

Try  not  to  feel  puffed  up  with  a feel- 
ing of  generosity  when  you  give  tramps 
donations  from  bakings  that  are  flat 
failures. 

Don’t  flatter  yourself  that  your  splen- 
did cooking  impels  your  husband  to  take 
all  his  meals  at  home;  he  may  have  ex- 
hausted his  credit  at  the  restaurant. 

If  you  find,  the  evening  before  your 
husband  must  take  an  early  morning 
train,  that  the  alarm  clock  is  broken, 
give  the  man  a good,  big,  hearty  dinner 
of  Welsh  rabbit. 

Before  you  serve  a meal  which  you 
are  sure  will  be  disappointing,  don’t 
fail  to  greet  your  husband  with  more 
than  your  usual  show  of  affection.  This 
procedure  on  your  part  may  ward  off 
some  of  his  exasperating  comments. 

Easy. 

Poverty — “Did  you  have  any  trouble 
flying  out  of  the  window?” 

Love — “Not  a bit!  A suffragette 
smashed  it  for  me.” 


The  Fastidious  One. 

By  WILLIAM  J.  LAMPTON. 

Twilight  had  let  her  cur- 
tain fall  and  pinned  it  with 
a star,  as  the  man  in  the 
motor  car,  wrapped  and 
furred  against  the  sharp 
cold,  spun  along  the  coun- 
try road.  At  a turn  he 
came  upon  a tramp  sitting 
on  a sheltered  log,  asleep 
or  frozen.  It  was  up  to 
him  not  to  let  the  homeless 
one  freeze  to  death,  and  he 
went  to  his  rescue. 

“Here!”  he  said,  shak- 
ing him ; “here ! Wake  up! 
You’ll  freeze!  Come  along 
with  me !” 

The  tramp  straightened 
up,  rubbed  his  eyes,  looked 
at  the  man  and  the  car 
waiting  in  the  road,  and 
shook  his  head. 

“Aw,”  he  growled,  “go 
on  and  lemme  alone!  This 
is  no  kind  of  a night  to  be 
riding  around  in  an  open 
car.  ” 

New  minister — “How  old 
are  you,  little  man?” 

Slum  child — “I  ain’told; 
I’s  five  years  young.” 

New  Year’s. 

It’s  a fading  institution, 

For,  when  all  is  said  and  done, 
Don’t  we  treat  each  resolution 
With  the  accent  on  the  “Shun”? 


ALSO,  A LOBSTER. 

“ Pa,  what  is  a boob  ?” 

“ A boob,  my  son,  is  a lemon’s  affinity.” 

Looking  Upward. 

(In  1999) — “Marie,  bring  out  the 
aeroambulator  and  take  baby  up  for  an 
airing.” 

A New  Year’s  thought:  We  make  ’em 
to  break  ’em. 


Christmas  Circular  Letters 


AS  IS  well  known,  the  bestower  of 
Christmas  gifts  rarely  knows  what 
to  bestow,  while  the  bestowed  upon  is, 
upon  receipt  of  the  bestowed,  disgusted 
both  with  the  bestowed  and  the  be- 
stowee. 

How  may  these  marring  circum- 
stances be  avoided?  By  a very  simple 
and  sensible  plan,  whereby  every  pro- 
spective giver  of  gifts  will  be  put  in 
touch  with  the  wants  and  don't-wants  of 
his  friends,  by  means  of  circular  letters 
setting  forth  the  same.  These  letters, 
it  can  readily  be  seen,  will  eliminate 
much  of  the  trouble  and  dissatisfaction 
attending  the  Christmas  season,  and 
their  judicious  use,  with  such  modifica- 
tions as  are  necessary,  will  not  only 
bring  about  a better  state  of  things  for 
their  senders,  but  will  have  a tendency 
to  greatly  relieve  the  troubles  and  wor- 
ries, and  mayhap  retain  the  sanity,  of 
their  recipients.  These  missives  should 
be  mailed  about  December  15th,  and 
should  read  in  substance  as  follows: 

December  15th,  1911. 

Dear  Mr.  (Mrs  or  Miss) — As  we  once 
more  approach  the  gift-giving  holiday 
period,  I,  with  the  idea  of  doing  what  I 
can  toward  bringing  about  a less  worri- 
some and  more  joyous  feeling  in  the 
hearts  of  my  friends,  write  you  (and  the 
others)  this  letter. 

The  fundamental  evils  which  the  let- 
ter aims  to  overcome  are  as  detailed 
below. 

You  have,  during  many  past  seasons, 
done  me  the  honor  to  send  me  a Christ- 
mas present,  and  you  have  without  doubt 
given  the  selection  of  a suitable  gift 
much  worry  and  nerve-racking  consid- 
eration, only  to  burden  me  in  the  end 
with  something  for  which  I did  not  care 
and  for  which  I had  no  use;  I,  in  my 
turn,  have  had  the  same  difficulties  to 
overcome  in  the  selection  of  a gift  for 


By  HARVEY  PEAKE. 

you,  which  you  no  doubt  disliked  as 
greatly  as  I did  the  one  you  sent  to  me. 

Now,  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  the 
application  of  a little  common  sense  to 
this  problem  would  prevent  it  from  be- 
coming an  annual  calamity,  and  would, 
in  a measure,  restore  to  the  gift-giv- 
ing custom  its  original  and  intended 
charm. 

With  this  end  in  view,  and  that  you 
may  know  clearly  what  I want  and  what 
I don’t  want,  I append  two  lists  (with 
approximate  prices  attached  in  the 
“Things  Wanted”  column),  that  you,  in 
your  selection  of  a gift  for  me,  may  be 
governed  thereby : 


"THE  ETERNAL  QUESTION” 
(just  at  present) . 


Thing s Not  Wanted  : 

1.  Cut-glass  ink  well. 

2.  Velvet  slippers,  with  embroidered 
rosebuds. 

3.  Pale-violet  necktie. 

4.  Bronze  candlestick. 

5.  Hand-painted  ash  tray. 

6.  “The  Secret  of  Wealth,”  bound 
in  red  morocco. 

7.  Pink  silk  pajamas. 

8.  Subscription  to  the  “Missionary 
Tidings.” 

9.  Pearl-handled  manicure  set. 

10.  Pink  satin  pincushion  in  the  form 
of  a leg. 

Things  Wanted : 

1.  Piano  tuned  ($2). 

2.  Two  suits  of  union  underwear  ($5). 

3.  Plaster  crack  in  bathroom  ceiling 
mended  ($1.50). 

4.  Order  on  the  barber  for  haircut, 
shampoo,  and  shave  (75  cents). 

5.  Kitchen  clock  overhauled  ($1). 

6.  Receipted  gas  bill  for  November 
($4.80). 

7.  Coal  to  any  reasonable  amount. 

8.  Subscription  to  the  “Sporting 
World”  ($3). 

9.  Corkscrew  (10  cents). 

10.  Oak  timber  for  mending  dining- 
room chairs,  in  the  form  of  two  legs 
($1.50). 

Knowing  that  you  will  have  the ‘com- 
mon sense  to  see  the  practicability  of 
this  method  of  procedure,  and  awaiting 
a similar  communication  from  you,  I am, 

Yours  with  the  season’s  compliments, 
John  W.  Levelhead. 

To  the  Manner  Born. 

Jones  was  born  with  a silver  spoon 
In  his  mouth,  if  reports  are  true. 

To  judge  by  the  way 
He  eats  every  day, 

He  was  born  with  a knife  there,  too. 

Began  the  New  Year  Well. 

Hill — “I  began  the  new  year  well.’1 

Dill — “How  was  that?” 

Hill — “Why,  I wasn’t  sick  when  it 
was  ushered  in.” 


“ BETWEEN  TWO  FIRES.” 


As  to  Santa  Claus. 

By  JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS. 

SO  FULL  of  love  doth  he  appear 

For  all  our  countless  human  legions, 
I'm  not  at  all  surprised  to  hear 

He  lives  up  in  the  Heartic  Regions! 

At  Christmas  Time. 

Christmas  is  the  time  of  the  year  when 
you  make  your  friends  Christmas  pres- 
ents, expecting  to  receive  gifts  twice  as 
valuable  from  them ; 

And  when  you  discover  that  you  have 
more  friends  than  it  is  temporarily  con- 
venient to  have,  and  that  race  suicide  is 
a myth; 

And  think  how  much 
better  you  might  be  than 
you  are,  and  how  much 
better  you  are  than  you 
believed  you  were,  and 
how  much  better,  also, 
the  other  fellow  is  than 
you  gave  him  credit  for 
being,  and  how  much  bet- 
ter the  world  is  than  you 
thought  it  was ; 

And  feel  that  there  is 
something  more  of  you  than  the  purely 
physical  and  material; 

And  that  a Home  and  Family  are 
worth  having  and  the  Heart  a reality; 

And  when  a dollar  seems  to  be  less  than 
a cent,  and  it’s  a greater  puzzle  than 
ever  how  to  make  one  dollar  do  the  work 
of  ten; 

And  when  everything  looks  different 
and  sweeter  than  it  does  at  any  other 
time; 

And  when  anyone  who  does  not  feel 
the  Christmas  Spirit  must  be  insane  or 
an  iceberg; 

And  when  you  think  how  glorious  it 
would  be  if  we  all  felt  and  practised  the 
Christmas  Spirit  365  days  a year  instead 
of  only  one; 


And  can’t  give  any  good  reason  why 
we  should  not, 

Except  that  desiring  continuous  hap- 
piness, we  haven’t  sense  enough  to 
take  the  only  road  to  it. 

— Henry  Waldorf  Francis. 

“ Throw  Physic  to  the  Dogs.” 

The  man  who  bothers  the  doctor  with 
an  imaginary  disease  may  have  to  pay 
for  an  imaginary  cure. 


Human  Nature. 

Crawford — “Most  persons  seem  to 
hate  the  business  they  are  in.’’ 

Crabshaw — “That  would  account  for 
all  the  fellows  who  are  trying  to  mind 
other  people’s  business.’’ 


What  Was  the  Girl’s  Name? 

By  WILLIAM  J.  LAMPTON. 

What  care  I though  the  grass  be  green, 
And  the  fields  of  grain  as  well ; 

And  the  leaves  of  the  trees  on  wooded 
hills 

And  deep  in  the  shaded  dell? 

What  care  I though  the  skies  be  blue 
As  the  summer  skies  may  be, 

And  the  sunlight  fall  in  azure  streams 
On  a smiling  sapphire  sea? 

What  care  I though  the  coming  dawn 
Be  purple  and  gold  and  red, 

And  the  night  that  follows  the  day  be 
black 

And  lowering  overhead? 

What  care  I though  the  mountain  crags 
Be  gray  against  the  sky. 
And  the  rainbow  lift  its 
splendors  up 

In  a seven-hued  curve  on 
high? 

What  care  I though  the 
snow  be  white 
In  the  fields  and  on  the 
town? 

What  care  I for  the 
world’s  colors  cheme, 
When  all  I can  see  is 
Brown? 

Probably. 

Witts — “What  do  you  suppose  would 
happen  if  an  earthquake  should  hit  New 
York,  laying  every  building  in  ruins  and 
tearing  great  holes  in  the  ground?’’ 

Bitts — “All  the  natives  would  prob- 
ably lean  over  the  improvised  fence  and 
say,  ‘Goodness!  what  a lot  of  building 
going  on  this  year.’  ” 

Resemblance. 

Knicker — “Which  side  of  the  house 
does  the  baby  resemble?’’ 

Bockei — “The  mortgage;  he  costs  so 
much.  ” 

A Judge  at  home  is  worth  two  in  the 
reading-room. 


The  Benedict.  The  Bachelor. 

“ TWAS  THE  NIGHT  BEFORE  CHRISTMAS  ” 


Christmas — What  and  Why. 

By  CARl.ETON  G.  GARRETSON. 


/""HRISTMAS  is  by  far  the  most  seri- 
ous  holiday  of  the  year.  It  was  in 
vented  by  the  Retail  Merchants’  Federa- 
tion as  a means  of  affording  an  outlet 
for  their  shopworn  and  returned  miscell- 
any. It  is  supposed  to  be  a season  of  joy, 
but  to  the  man  behind  the  checkbook  it  re- 
sembles a toothache,  in  that  the  only  real 
joy  connected  with  it  comes  when  it  is 
entirely  over.  Its  greatest  value  lies  in 
the  fact  that  it  gives  you  an  opportunity 
to  compare  your  taste  with  that  of  your 
relatives  and  friends,  to  their  serious 
detriment.  Christmas  is  a boon  as  a 
means  of  education.  One  would  never 


know  of  the  existence  of  millions  of 
curious  and  obsolete  brands  of  cigars, 
neckties,  haberdashery  receptacles,  and 
literature  were  it  not  for  this  annual 
period  of  scientific  research. 

The  first  symptoms  of  Christmas  ap- 
pear weeks  beforehand.  Elevator  boys 
become  docile  and  in  some  cases  actually 
obliging,  employes  suddenly  grow  anx- 
ious to  earn  at  least  a portion  of  their 
salary,  children  show  an  alarming  inter- 
est in  Sunday-school  work  and  a startling 
willingness  to  mind  their  parents,  em- 
ployers noisily  shed  tears  at  the  discov- 
ery that  adverse  business  conditions  will 


make  it  impossible  for  them  to  place 
extra  five-spots  in  their  employes’  envel- 
opes this  year,  and  wives  make  a Mara- 
thon run  on  husbands’  bank  accounts, 
resulting  in  intense  suffering  and  occa- 
sional eruptions.  Poets  and  humorous 
paragraphers  break  the  union  time 
schedule,  and  manuscript  goes  and  comes 
at  a furious  rate,  decreasing  the  author’s 
bank  roll  and  the  postal  deficit. 

You  can  tell  when  the  great  day  dawns 
by  looking  at  the  calendar.  The  date  is 
printed  in  red.  There  is  a movement  on 
foot  among  the  Ultimate  Fund  Furnish- 
ers to  change  this  custom,  having  the 


1.  Ethel — “ Dear  me  ! This  Christmas  gift  business  is  such  a 
bore ! Last  year  Grace  sent  me  a present,  and  I was  so  pro- 
voked because  I did  not  send  her  one  that  I positively  must  not 
forget  her  this  time.” 


2.  Grace — “ Oh,  dear,  how  provoking  ! Here ’s  a present 
from  Ethel.  I wish  she  hadn’t  sent  it,  because  I failed  to  send 
her  one  I simply  must  run  out  and  get  her  something  to  re- 
ciprocate before  the  stores  close.  Isn't  it  maddening  1” 


THE  CHRISTMAS  SPIRIT. 


ordinary  days  printed  in  red  and  Decem- 
ber 25th  in  black.  On  the  night  before, 
the  children  hang  up  their  stockings, 
and,  as  a result,  their  fathers  often 
hang  up  the  grocers  and  the  landlords 
for  weeks  to  come.  Mothers  prepare 
special  feasts  with  great  pains,  which 
the  children  bear  as  bravely  as  they  can. 
The  day  is  followed  by  a short  period  of 
convalescence,  during  which  toys  are 
conscientiously  broken  or  put  where  they 
will  do  no  further  harm,  and  misfit 
plunder  is  hidden  in  the  attic  or  given 
to  the  Salvation  Army.  Christmas  is 
now  celebrated  in  all  civilized  parts  of 
the  globe,  and  also  in  Philadelphia, 
Albany,  and  Lincoln,  Neb.  It  is  ushered 
in  by  the  ringing  of  church  bells,  door 
bells,  and  telephone  bells,  and  ushered 
out  by  the  ringing  of  doctors’  bells.  It 
comes  only  once  in  a year,  and  stays  but 
twenty-four  hours;  therefore  let  us  all 
join  in  giving  three  rousing,  lusty  cheers 
for  the  merry,  merry  Christmas-tide. 

Mary’s  Lamb  Some  More. 

The  little  lamb  that  Mary  had, 

With  fleece  as  white  as  snow, 

Maybe  ’twas  bought  in  Wall  Street, 
Where  lambs  are  “fleeced,”  you  know. 


UNCLE  SAM  SANTA  CLAUS’S  PRESENT 
FOR  SOMEBODY  NEXT  YEAR. 


WANTED  TO  EXCHANGE. 

Special  C'liristuius  Announcements. 

X WIDOW  LADY  with  seventeen  children,  and 
™ no  income,  will  exchange  a brand-new  baby- 
grand  piano,  received  at  Christmas,  for  eighteen 
tons  of  stove  coal,  and  three  thousand  six  hundred 
and  fifty  ham  sandwiches,  to  be  delivered  at  the  rate 
of  ten  a day  for  one  year.  Address,  Dead  Broke. 
Box  4532,  Bronx. 


TO  WHOM  IT  MAY  CONCERN:  The  under- 
■ signed,  a veteran  of  the  war.  who  left  both  legs 
on  the  field  of  battle,  will  be  glad  to  hear  from  any- 
one having  a pair  of  cork  legs  for  which  he  has  no 
use  and  is  willing  to  exchange  the  same  for  three 
dozen  pairs  of  red,  white  and  blue  socks  which  have 
not  been  removed  from  the  original  package  in 
which  they  were  received  on  Christmas  morning. 
Write  or  telephone  to  Veteran,  No.  13,  Hard  Luck 
Square,  Teetaugus,  Conn. 


X YOUNG  MAN  playing  in  hard  luck  will  ex- 
n change  his  prospects  for  a cash  present  from  a 
penurious  uncle  for  a certified  check  for  one  dollar, 
and  no  questions  asked.  Last  Christmas  said  uncle's 
gift  was  three  dollars.  Fine  chance  for  persons  not 
afraid  of  taking  a long  shot.  Answer  before  Christ- 
mas. Thomas  Giddybody,  Crackerjack  Club,  New 
York  City. 


A POPULAR  GENTLEMAN  in  reduced  circum- 
” stances  will  exchange  one  velveteen  smoking- 
jacket,  one  silver-mounted  hair  brush  and  comb, 
three  platinum  ashtrays,  a German  silver  horseshoe 
searfpin.  studded  with  best  French  plate-glass 
brilliants,  one  plated  cocktail  shaker,  five  copies  of 
Boozleum's  Latest  Rules  of  Auction  Bridge,  seven- 
teen embroidered  sofa  cushions,  and  a handsomely 
bound  copy  of  Lucille,  for  enough  cash  to  meet  one 
overdue  gas  bill,  two  months  house  charges  at  his 
club,  and  a small  payment  on  a tailor’s  account.  The 
above  articles  are  brand  new  having  been  received 
as  Christmas  presents  within  the  past  forty-eight 
hours  from  relatives  and  friends.  Address.  Bache- 
lor. General  Post  Office. 


UAS  ANYBODY  any  use  for  a handsomely  em- 
broidered  motto  in  pink  and  yellow  flosa  framed 
in  black  oak,  and  reading.  "Cheer  up  the  worst  is 
not  yet  but  soon!"  Will  accept  anything  in  ex- 
change that  has  any  earthly  use.  J.  P.  W.,  Box 
8943,  Squeehawkett,  Mass. 


MAKING  A MONKEY  OF  CUPID, 


NOTHING  TO  WEAR. 


Montmorency’s  Misfit  Christmas. 


TOW’D  his  whiskership  treat  you?” 
* 4 asked  Timmie  Brady,  the  news- 
boy. “What’d  yuh  git  fer  Christmas?” 
‘‘To  put  it  in  plain,  rough  language,” 
replied  William  de Puyster Montmorency, 
‘‘I  got  the  hooks.” 

‘‘Chee,”  chuckled  Timmie.  ‘‘Sore  as 
a boil,  ain’t  you?  Better  lance  it,  Bill, 
an’  let  de  pizen  outa  yer  system.  I got 
time  t’  listen  t’  yer  tale  o’  woe  before  I 
mosey  ’long  to  keep  me  appointment  t’ 
lunch  wit’  Taft  an’  de  British  Embassa- 
dor.” Since  the  day  he  had  blacked  the 
Montmorency  eyes  and  rubbed  the  arist- 
oci-atic  nose  in  the  dirt  Tim  had  taken  a 
comradely  interest  in  the  poor  little  rich 
boy. 

‘‘You  see,”  said  William,,  who  had 
evaded  his  tutor  and  come  down  to  Tim’s 
corner  solely  to  unburden  his  mind, 
‘‘father  and  mother  had  to  go  and  get 
sick  the  day  before  Christmas  with  some- 
thing catching,  so  I was  sent  to  Aunt 
Nancy’s  in  the  country.” 

‘‘Yuh  has  me  sympathy,  pal.”  Tim 
tendered  a grimy  hand.  ‘‘I  wuz  out  in 
de  rhubarban  districk  once.  It’s  fierce.  ” 
‘‘Aunt  Nancy  said  she  would  give  me 
an  old-fashioned  Christmas.  Really, 
Tim,  a man  can’t  talk  about  a woman, 

you  know,  but  it  was  ” William 

coughed  delicately. 

‘‘Uh-huh;  dots  and  dashes, ” assented 
Tim  understand ingly. 


By  TERRELL  LOVE  HOLLIDAY 

‘‘First,  she  tried  to  put  over  that  old 
Santa  Claus  gag:  made  me  hang  up  my 
stocking  and  go  to  bed  at  eight  o’clock. 
Just  fawncy !” 

‘‘An’  yuh  goin’  on  twelve  years!” 
ejaculated  Tim. 

‘‘And  then,  thinking  I’d  be  crazy  to 
see  what  Santa  Claus  had  brought,  she 
called  me  at  five  o’clock.  Imagine! 
And  I’m  cross  all  day  when  my  morning 
nap  is  spoiled.  ” 

‘‘Shure,  ” agreed  the  newsy.  ‘‘I 
couldn’t  sell  a double-murder  extra 
if  me  valley  woke  me  before  five-t’ir- 
ty  in  de  mornin’.” 

I protested  that  it  lacked  three 
hours  of  my  time  for  rising,  but  Aunt 


Nancy  looked  so  hurt  I had  to  get  up. 
She’s  a good  soul.” 

‘‘Yep.  Them’s  de  kin’  dat  drives  us 
men  t’  drink.” 

‘‘I  slipped  into  my  dressing  gown  and 
went  down  to  look  at  my  things.  Of 
course  I knew  it  was  all  a frost,  but  I 
had  no  idea — excuse  me.”  William 
leaned  against  the  fire-alarm  box.  ‘‘I’m 
almost  overcome  at  the  recollection.” 
‘‘Buck  up,”  urged  Tim.  ‘‘De  woist 
is  yet  t’  come,  as  de  wife-beater  said 
w’en  he  broke  his  cane  an’  went  after  a 
bed-slat  t’  finish  de  job.” 

‘‘The  first  thing  I took  out  of  that 
stocking  was  a red  tin  trumpet.  Fawn- 
cy! And  I gave  my  silver-mounted 
cornet  to  the  butler  because  I don’t  care 
for  such  things.  Next,  I drew  a toy 
music  box  that  played  ‘The  Last  Rose  of 
Summer.’  Imagine  that  after  listening 
to  my  one  hundred  and  fifty-dollar  gramo- 
phone, with  grand  opera  records!  Then 
there  were  gingerbread  animals,  nuts, 
raisins,  and  some  mixed  candy.  'And  I 
never  eat  anything  of  the  kind  except 
marons  glaces  and  Swiss  milk  chocolate, 
the  imported.  That  American  - made 
stuff  is  horrible.  Last — brace  yourself, 
Tim — a pair  of  red  yarn  mittens!  Ugh, 
they  made  my  flesh  creep.  I’ve  worn 
nothing  but  Gautier’s,  made  in  the  Rue 
de  la  Paix,  for  years.” 

‘‘Yuh  certainly  wuz  up  against  it,” 


LONG  DRAWN  OUT 


“ What  is  the  name  of  the  swell  with  the  monocle  ?” 

“ I can’t  remember  it  at  the  moment,  but  it 's  one  of  those  names  like  Jones-Jones,  with  a hyphen  and  an  echo.” 


sympathized  Tim,  though  it  was  evident 
his  eyes  twinkled. 

“And  then  that  awful  Christmas  din- 
ner, which  I had  to  eat  for  politeness’ 
sake.  No  shellfish,  soup,  green  salad, 
ice  nor  wine — nothing  but  turkey,  cran- 
berry sauce,  baked  squash,  and  so  forth ; 
and  pumpkin  pie!  Gad,”  shuddered 
William,  “ we  haven’t  had  a pie  in  the 
house  since  father  cornered  the  wheat 
market.  ” 

“Poor  guy,”  said  Tim,  wiping  his 
waterin  mouth,  “yuh  must  ’a’  felt  like 
a cat  bein’  choked  t’  deat’  wit’  cream. 


Didn’t  yer  home  folks  give  yer  nuttin?” 
“Oh,  yes,”  answered  the  ill-used  rich- 
ling,  as  spied  his  tutor  coming.  “When 
I returned  home  I found  there  the  six- 
ninety  torpedo  body  roadster,  diamond 
sleeve  links,  and  a few  other  trifles  I 
wanted.  But  getting  them  so  late, 
somehow  it  didn't  seem  like  Christmas.  ” 

A Hardy  Perennial. 

JACK  FROST  may  be  Cupid’s  discloser, 
Warm-hearted  in  spite  of  his  snow. 
And  the  kiss  that  in  June  is  sub  rosa, 

In  December  is  sub  mistletoe. 

— Katharine  Perry. 


Book  Reviewer  Was  “Broke.” 

“Do  you  recall  what  book  had  the 
least  in  it  of  any  you  ever  reviewed?” 

“My  pocketbook.  Haven’t  got  a dol- 
lar with  you,  have  you,  old  man?” 

Touching  Suggestion. 

Departing  guest. — “I’d  gladly  give  you 
a tip,  waiter,  but  I find  I’ve  only  cab- 
fare  left.” 

Waiter  (benignly) — “Ah,  sir,  you 
don’t  appreciate  the  beneficial  effect  of 
a good,  after-dinner  walk!” 


t 

The  Defeat  of  Squelcher. 


^ALMLY  ignoring  the  sign 

AGENTS  AND  BEGGARS 
NOT  ADMITTED 


the  somewhat  bedraggled  little  woman 
of  five  feet  one  and  a half  turned  the 
highly  polished  brass  knob  of  Squelcher’s 
office  door  and  walked  into  the  outer 
sanctuary,  beyond  which  no  one  was  ex- 
pected to  pass  until  the  name  had  been 
taken  in  to  Squelcher. 

“Mr.  Squelcher  in?”  asked  the  little 
woman  of  the  boy  in  a green 
uniform  with  brass  buttons. 

“He  is,  ma’am;  but” 

“Then  I will  see  him,”  she  said 
graciously,  as  she  gently  pushed 
the  boy  aside  and  opened  the  ma- 
hogany gate  over  which  he  was 
keeping  guard. 

“But,  ma’am,  he  doesn’t  see 

people  until” 

“That  so,  boy?  You  don’t  say  !” 

With  this  she  approached  the 
door  of  Squelcher  and  walked  in. 

She  was  so  palpably  a forbidden 
agent  that  Squelcher’s  frown  would 
have  caused  cold  chills  to  travel 
up  and  down  the  average  spine, 
but  it  had  no  such  effect  on  the 
little  woman. 

“Good-morning,  Mr.  Squelch- 
er,” she  said,  with  the  air  of  a 
person  addressing  an  inferior. 

“I  hope  you  are  well  this  morn- 
ing. But,  then,  any  one  ought  to 
be  well  with  such  lovely  weather 
as  we  are  having.  Such  a nice, 
pleasant  office  as  you  have,  once 
you  get  up  here!  That’s  a fine 
rubber  plant  you  have  ! The  leaves 
look  so  glossy  and  healthy,  and 
there’s  a new  one  coming  out,  isn’t 
there?  I like  to  see  plants  in  a man’s 
office.  Shows  refinement.  It’s  a theory 
of  mine  that  when  a man  loves  plants 
and  flowers  there  can  never  be  anything 
so  very  bad  about  him.  You  take  a 
man  that”— — 

“Excuse  me,  madam;  but  this  is  a 

very  busy  morning  with  me,  and” 

“Of  course  it  is!  I wonder  if  there 
is  any  morning  when  you  are  not  busy. 
Do  you  know  that  you  look  to  me  like  a 
man  who  could  never  do  anything  else 
but  keep  busy?  Seems  to  me  you  have 
‘I  do  things’  written  all  over  you. 
Then,  of  course,  a man  at  the  head  of  so 
many  great  enterprises  as  you  are  would 


naturally  have  little  idle  time  on  his 
hands.  But,  then,  I am  always  busy 
myself;  and,  do  you  know,  I am  glad  of 
it.  I am  a person  who  always  likes  to 
be  doing  something.  That’s  one  reason 
why  I took  up  canvassing.  It  puts  one 
out  into  the  world  of  action  and  sweeps 
you  along  with  the  great,  restless,  ir- 
resistible tide  of — If  you  don’t  mind, 
I will  sit  down.  Thanks.” 

She  helped  herself  to  a chair  before 
adding, 

“Your  name,  Mr.  Squelcher,  has  been 


given  to  me  as  that  of  a person  sure  to 
be  greatly  interested  in  a set  of  books  I 
am  giving  a few  carefully  selected  per- 
sons the  privilege  of  purchasing  at  a 
rate  much  less  than  that  offered  to  the 
general  public.  This  is  because,  Mr. 
Squelcher,  we  know  the  value  of  a name 
like  yours  on  our  books,  and  we — By 
the  way,  are  you-related  to  the  Squelch- 
ers of  Chicago?  1 spent  several  weeks 
in  Chicago  last  year  and  remember 
meeting  some  charming  people  named 


Squelcher.  It’s  an  old  English  name, 
isn’t  it?  It  has  a kind  of  an  English 
sound,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  I once 
saw  somewhere  the  Squelcher  coat  of 
arms.  Now,  where  was  it  I saw  that? 
I feel  sure  that  I saw  it  somewhere,  and 
it  seems  to  me  that  the  Chicago  Squelch- 
ers said  something  about  it  to  me.  They 
were  people  of  high  intelligence  and 
great  refinement,  and  they  took  two  sets 
of  the  book  I have  consented  to  act  as 
agent  for,  partly  because  I think  that  it 
is  a kind  of  a public  benefaction  to  help 
disseminate  really  good  reading 
matter  in  this  day  when  there  is  so 
much  that  is  poor  and  even  perni- 
cious in  circulation  in  the  way  of 
literature.  The  publishers  of  the 
set  of  books  I am  letting  you  see 
asked  me  this  morning  if  I had 
yet  given  you  the  privilege  of 

seeing  the  books,  and  I” 

“Beg  your  pardon,  madam;  but 

I don’t  care  to” 

“What  a fine-looking  young  fel- 
low that  is  in  the  photograph  in 
the  frame  on  your  desk ! Your 
son?  Do  you  know  that  I was  sure 
that  it  was  your  son  the  moment  I 
looked  at  it?  Resembles  you  very 
closely,  but  I should  say  that  he 
had  hardly  your  firmness  of  char- 
acter. His  chin  is  not  quite  so 
square  as  yours,  but  that  may 
change  as  he  grows  older.  Any- 
thing I do  admire  in  a man,  it’s 
firmness  of  character.  These  men 
who  are  moved  by  every  wind 
that  blows  claim  little  of  my  ad- 
miration or  respect.  One  has  only 
to  look  at  you  to  see  that  you  are 
a man  of  great  force  of  character. 
And  do  you  know  that  it  really 
takes  a man  of  that  kind  to  fully  appre- 
ciate a set  of  books  like  those  I am  let- 
ting you  see?  I want  you  to  see  the 
binding,  because  I am  sure  that  it  will 
appeal  to  a man  of  your  superior  and 
critical  literary  taste  quite  as  much  as 
the  contents  of  the  book.  Do  you  know 
that  I think  that  a beautfiul  and  artistic 
binding  adds  so  much  to  the  enjoyment 
of  a book?  I would  rather  have  one 
handsomely  and  artistically  bound  book 
than  a dozen  books  just  as  good  in  their 
real  literary  quality,  but  in  poor  and 
cheap  binding.  I knew  that  you  would 
be  interested  in  the  binding  as  soon  as  I 
saw  the  artistic  and  harmonious  effects 
in  your  office.  The  cute  little  office  boy 


in  the  dark  green  suit  and  brass  buttons 
exactly  harmonizes  with  the  rich,  dark 
mahogany  furniture.  It  is  areal  pleas- 
ure to  allow  a man  of  genuine  taste  the 
privilege  of  seeing  this  set  of  books.  It 
is  simply  a casting  of  pearls  before 
swine  to  show  richly  bound  books  to 
some  men;  but  you — • Well,  it  is  really 
a joy  to  meet  a person  who — Allow 
me!  I want  you  to  note  the  title  page. 
We  spent  months  on  that  title  page 

alone,  and” 

‘‘I  don’t  want” 

“Of  course  you  wouldn’t  want  any  but 
this  binding.  We  have  three  different 
kinds  of  binding,  but  only  those  in  ordi- 


the  books  with  the  understanding  that 
you  will  give  us  a letter  saying  what  you 
think  about  them  after  you  have  read 
them.  We  shall  value  that  far  more 
than  the  fifty  dollars  you  are  so  good  as 
to  pay  for  the  books,  although  only  a 
dozen  or  two  of  persons  can  have  them 
at  that  price.  Ten  dollars  to-day,  please, 
and  the  rest  when  the  books  are  deliv- 
ered. Thanks!  It  is  really  a pleasure 
to  sell  a gentleman  like  you  a set  of  the 
books.  So  much  discourtesy  in  the 
world  that  when  one  meets  with  a kind 
of  a true  Southern  type  of  chivalry  and 
courtesy  it  really  lessens  the  burdens  of 
life.  Good-by,  Mr.  Squelcher.  Don’t 


Zeus  Goes  A-riding. 

Ho,  Hermes  ! Catch  my  winged  steed 
And  bring  him  on  the  green. 

Vulcan  ! Adjust  his  steering  gear. 

Pluto  ! Get  gasoline. 

Please  see  his  wings,  Minerava,  dear. 
Are  in  alignment  straight; 

For  I would  use  my  monoplane — 
Pegasus  up-to-date.  Adam,. 

The  Coroner  Will  Find  Out. 

‘‘I  see  another  one  of  your  patients 
is  dead.” 

‘ ‘ Yes ; and  I am  greatly  perturbed  over 
his  case.  I gave  him  two  kinds  of  medi- 
cine and  don’t  know  which  one  it  was 
that  killed  him.” 


What  « s life  To  me  now.'*  kiy  mujuJ  has 
Thrown  ME  OVE  TOO*  THAT  UGl -T  f 

HoBBue  JKiRTED  creature  ^ f'  u I,-; 

-Tut*  is  life,  when  ONE  TJ-L 
<5  c-T J o up  anjj  ~7,  <5 

..  W PR  i m rC  t-"E  AnO  THE  . a " T>T- 

yj)  SKvj*  Dust  leak.s  Z V *. 

^ OUT  AT  the  JRlNT-f.  / ,1  _ 


* 


nary  circumstances  purchase  any  but 
this  rich  dark  green  and  gold — a perfect 
match  for  your  office;  and  Mr.  Snapper, 
on  the  floor  below,  took  this  binding  and 
said” 

‘‘Snapper?  Did  he  get  stung  for  a 
set?” 

“Oh,  you  delightfully  comical  man! 
What  a clever  way  you  have  of  putting 
things ! A man  of  your  keen  and  ready 
wit  would  appreciate  so  much  in  the 
books,  for  they  are  fairly  bristling  with 
wit  and — ‘Did  Snapper  get  stung  for 
a set?’  That  is  so  jolly!  I have  been 
told  that  you  were  one  of  the  wittiest 
men  in  the  city,  and  I can  well  believe 
it  after — Will  you  write  your  name  in 
my  little  subscription  book  right  under 
Snapper’s?  But  I am  letting  you  have 


rise  to  open  the  door  for  me.  So  glad 
to  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  one  I 
have  so  long  admired  for  his  business 
sagacity  and  public  enterprise.  Do  you 
know,  I really  think  you  would  have 
made  a splendid  canvasser  yourself?  So 
irresistible  in  your  arguments  and  so 
firm  in — • Good-by ! Here  is  the  cute 
little  lad  in  his  green  and  gold  uniform, 
to  show  me  out  as  politely  as  he  showed 
mein.  Nice  boy!  Good-by!” 

Sure  To  Get  There: 

The  Mrs.  never  misses 
Any  bargain  sale, 

For  the  female  of  the  species 
Is  more  thrifty  than  the  male. 

Always  up-to-date — a calendar;  but 
its  days  are  numbered. 


Explained. 

“How  do  you  explain  the  peculiar  ac- 
tions of  that  suffragette?” 

“There’s  a man  in  the  case.” 

“But  she’s  married.” 

“Two  men.” 

Reversing  Things. 

Hewitt — ““What  do  you  think  of  this 
suffragette  business?” 

Jewett — “If  it  is  carried  to  its  logical 
conclusion,  it  will  result  in  woman  put- 
ting her  money  in  her  husband’s  name.” 


CURRENT  EXPRESSION. 
“ Down  in  black  and  white.” 


Wireless  Subscriptions 
Always  Welcome 


Santa  Claus  Bugle 

Edited  by  John  Bendrick  Kangs 


Weather  Today: 
Bright  and  Cheerful 


Vol.  I. 


Clausville,  December  25,  1911. 


No.  1. 


Society  Notes. 

Colonel  Claus  left  Clausville  late  last 
evening  in  his  new  1912  Reindeermobile, 
for  his  regular  annual  tour  of  the  earth. 
Owing  to  the  fact  that  the  Claus  cook 
left  the  family  without  notice  and  very 
suddenly  on  Tuesday  last,  Mrs.  Claus 
was  unable  to  accompany  him. 

Miss  Kriss-Kringle,  of  Clausville  Cor- 
ners, gave  a gumdrop  party  on  Thursday 
evening  to  a number  of  her  school  friends 
back  for  the  holidays.  It  was  a very 
recherche  affair  and  lasted  until  the 
wee,  sma’  hours  of  the  morning.  A 
specially  prepared  gumdrop,  warranted 
to  last  fifteen  hours,  was  presented  to 
each  guest  as  a souvenir  of  a delightful 
occasion. 

Mr.  Monkey-on-a-Stick,  the  famous 
athlete,  accompanied  by  Major  Zinc,  of 
the  YuletideTin  Militia,  have  gone  with 
Colonel  Claus  as  guests  on  his  annual 
tour  of  the  Nursery  Country.  Their 
genial  presence  will  be  much  missed 
hereabouts,  where  they  have  been  ac- 
knowledged leaders  in  all  the  social 
gayeties  of  the  season. 

a 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Woodenhead  Noah  were 
host  and  hostess  at  a reception  in  honor 
of  their  sons,  Shem,  Ham,  and  Japhet, 
at  Arkville  Park,  on  Wednesday  even- 
ing. The  cotillion,  late  in  the  evening, 
was  led  by  that  inimitable  dancer, 
Kangar  Roo,  and  his  fair  partner,  Miss 
Elbe  Phant.  The  favors  were  very  hand- 
some, consisting  of  umbrellas,  raincoats, 
and  little  reproductions  of  the  Ark  in 
miniature. 

The  annual  ball  of  the  Daughters  of 
the  Yuletide  will  be  held  in  the  grand 
salon  of  the  Ice  Palace,  on  Holiday 
Square,  on  New  Year’s  Eve.  Colonel 
Claus,  who  expects  to  return  from  his 
tour  not  later  than  to-morrow  evening, 
has  promised  to  be  present.  The  ball 
bids  fair  to  be  the  most  brilliant  event 
of  an  already  brilliant  season. 

A 

To-morrow  afternoon,  upon  the  return 
of  Colonel  Claus  from  his  trip,  he  and 
Mrs.  Claus  will  give  their  annual  Yule- 


tide  reception  to  the  operatives  in  the 
Claus  Gift  Manufacturing  Company,  at 
which  the  colonel  will  deliver  his  cus- 
tomary address  to  the  hands,  after  which  j 
the  profit-sharing  checks  based  upon  the  j 
earnings  of  the  year  will  be  distributed. 
We  understand,  in  confidence,  that  at  the 
same  time  a loving  cup  made  of  solid 
sugar  will  be  presented  to  the  colonel  as  | 
a token  of  the  high  esteem  in  which  he 
is  held  by  his  grateful  employes. 

A 

Jack  the  Giant  Killer  and  his  cousin, 
Hop  o’  My  Thumb,  who  have  been  pass- 
ing the  past  three  months  in  Clausville, 
writing  their  memoirs  for  the  Yule  Pub- 
lishing Company,  left  town  last  night, 
to  return  to  their  homes  in  Fairyland 
for  the  Christmas  season.  They  have 
been  very  popular  in  Clausville  society, 
Hop  o’* My  Thumb  particularly  having 
been  in  demand  as  an  after-dinner 
speaker  of  rare  quality. 

Society  has  been  much  excited  during 
the  past  week  by  the  rumored  failure  of 
the  mistletoe  crop,  but  the  thoughtful 
act  of  the  administration  in  ordering 
that  any  sprig  of  green  hung  in  the 
right  place  will  carry  with  it  all  the 
usual  mistletoe  privileges  has  done  much 
to  allay  the  fears  of  the  younger  set 
that  some  of  the  cherished  customs  of 
the  season  would  have  to  be  abandoned. 
«?•  -*» 

Latest  News  from  Earthland. 

The  report  that  the  custom-house  offi- 
cials have  received  special  orders  to  in- 
spect the  luggage  of  the  agents  of  Santa 
Claus  upon  their  arrival  at  American 
ports,  in  search  of  contraband  articles, 
is  officially  denied  by  the  Treasury  De- 
partment. 

A 

A telegram  received  from  Washington 
last  night  announces  that  three  thousand 
six  hundred  and  fifty-seven  sacks  of 
mail,  weighing  forty-nine  tons,  ad- 
dressed to  Santa  Claus,  are  being  held 
there  for  the  colonel’s  arrival.  The 
President  will  place  sixty-seven  regi- 
ments of  the  regular  army  at  Colonel 
Claus’s  disposal,  to  enable  him  to  cope 
with  such  an  enormous  correspondence. 

Over  three  thousand  bogus  Santa 


Clauses  have  arrived  in  various  Ameri- 
can cities.  They  may  be  detected  by 
the  fact  that  in  almost  every  case  they 
wear  cotton  whiskers  instead  of  beards 
made  of  real  hair,  and  are  abdominally 
spurious,  an  effect  of  obesity  having 
been  obtained  by  means  of  pillows,  sofa 
cushions,  and  bolsters  concealed  beneath 
the  belt.  A punch  in  the  stomach  will 
speedily  reveal  to  the  public  whether  or 
not  they  are  the  real  thing. 

A 

Much  excitement  has  been  caused  in 
Chicago  by  the  rumor  that  Santa  Claus, 
owing  to  the  absence  of  snow  in  that 
city,  will  arrive  there  in  a Wright  bi- 
plane, accompanied  by  a capable  marks- 
man, who  will  drop  the  gifts  designed 
for  the  youthful  beneficiaries  directly 
into  the  chimney-tops  from  a height  of 
three  thousand  feet. 

The  subscribers  to  that  usually  care- 
ful organ  of  illustrated  public  opinion, 
the  New  York  Daily  Blast,  are  having  a 
great  deal  of  fun  at  the  expense  of  the 
| editorial  staff  for  having  printed  in  its 
issue  of  last  Thursday  a portrait  of  Mr. 
Andrew  Carnegie  as  the  latest  author- 
ized photograph  of  Santa  Claus.  On 
their  behalf  it  must  be  said  that  the 
error  is  not  unnatural,  owing  to  the  ex- 
traordinary physiognomical  resemblance 
of  the  two  philanthropists. 

A recent  dispatch  from  the  North  Pole 
brings  the  extraordinary  statement  that 
a sock  bearing  the  laundry  mark,  “Cook, 
Brooklyn,”  has  been  found  tacked  to 
the  southern  exposure  of  the  Pole  itself. 
Just  how  this  will  affect  the  recent  con- 
troversy remains  to  be  seen. 

BARGAIN  COLUMN. 

11/ILL  EXCHANGE  a thirty  horse-power  run- 
about  in  good  condition  and  a complete  set  of 
the  Congressional  Record  from  1901  to  date  for 
enough  ready  money  to  pay  off  a mortgage  incurred 
to  pay  expenses  of  the  former  fur  six  months.  As  a 
special  inducement  to  parties  interested,  will  also 
throw  in  five  umbrellas  and  seven  gold-mounted 
ebony  walkingsticks  received  last  Christmas,  and 
good  as  new,  none  of  them  having  been  used.  Apply 
before  January  first  to  Distress,  The  Down  and  Out 
Trust  Company,  New  York  City. 


A CLERGYMAN  living  in  the  suburbs  of  Phila- 
delphia begs  to  announce  that  he  will  be  glad  to 
exchange  thirty-eight  pairs  of  red  worsted  slippers 
of  various  sizes  and  shapes  for  one  good  sized  roast 
turkey,  three  pounds  of  cranberries,  and  a mince 
pie  suitable  for  a family  of  seven,  all  blest  wi»h 
good  appetites.  Apply  at  once  to  Rev.  James  X, 
Lock  Box  8976,  Wissahickon  P.  O. 


WHY  CHRISTMAS  IS  MERRY. 


Primary  Lessons  in  Geography. 

St.  Louis. 


CARI.ETON  G.  GARRETSON,  Instructor. 


CT.  LOUIS,  children,  is  in  Missouri, 
but  you  should  not  blame  this  enter- 
prising city  for  that.  It  is  going  ahead 
in  spite  of  its  accident  of  birth.  The 
Mississippi  River  passes  right  by  one 
side  of  St.  Louis  without  stopping, 
which  seems  strange,  inasmuch  as  the 
city  ranks  fourth  in  population  and  is 
in  every  way  a desirable  stopping  place. 
All  the  railroad  trains  stop  there,  how- 
ever, which  is  some  compensation. 
The  city  is  situated  on  a plain,  425  feet 
above  the  river  and  1,270  miles  above 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  The  water  supply 
comes  from  the  river,  which  perhaps 
accounts  for  the  fact  that  St.  Louis  con- 
tains the  largest  brewery  in  the  world. 
You  can  reach  the  city  by  train,  boat, 
telegraph,  and  telephone,  and  can  also 
drop  into  it  from  an  airship.  The  boats 
plying  on  the  river  first  came  to  our 
notice  many  years  ago,  when  a deckhand 
named  Mark  Twain  discovered  that  they 
contained  much  humorous  material.  In 
these  early  days  they  attracted  consid- 
erable attention  on  account  of  the 
many  poker  games  and  boiler  explo- 
sions that  took  place  on  board.  All  of 
these  historic  events  are  now  a thing 
of  the  past,  but  the  river  flows  on  still. 


(The  class  should  see  how  many  rivers 
they  can  think  of  that  are  flowing  on  still. ) 
In  1764  there  was  nothing  but  a trading 
post  where  St.  Louis  now  stands.  The 
old  post  is  there  yet  and  is  used  for 
hitching  purposes  and  for  displaying  ad- 
vertisements. (Advertisements,  chil- 
dren, are  the  things  you  see  in  the  rear 
of  this  publication.  If  you  did  not  see 
them,  you  would  not  see  the  publication.) 
The  city  has  been  visited  by  fires,  floods, 
epidemics,  the  President,  muck-rakers, 
suffrage  speakers,  tornadoes,  political 
corruption,  and  other  pestilences;  but  it 
has  weathered  them  all  and  is  perhaps 
the  better  for  its  harrowing  experiences. 
As  the  breweries  manufacture  beer  a 
little  faster  than  it  is  consumed,  some 
of  it  is  exported.  This  is  one  of  the 
city’s  telling  methods  of  publicity.  St. 
Louis  suffered  an  exciting  catastrophe 
seven  years  ago  in  the  form  of  an  ex- 
position, but  it  has  recuperated  bravely. 
Its  population  is  at  present  687,029. 
One-sixth  of  these  are  Germans.  The 
remaining  572,524  1-6  are  of  various 
other  nationalities,  the  1-6  being  born 
right  here  in  the  United  States.  For 
home  work  the  class  may  review  this 
lesson,  and  then  put  down  the  most 


famous  product  of  St.  Louis.  We  hope 
to  have  a full  attendance  at  the  next 
session. 

His  Dilemma. 

By  MINNA  IRVING. 

THREE  photographs  upon  the  shelf 
Are  standing  in  a row, 

All  framed  in  silver  filagree, 

Of  girls  I used  to  know, 

With  dancing  eyes,  and  smiling  lips, 
And  locks  of  blond  or  jet; 

I recollect  their  names  were  Maude, 

And  Madge,  and  Violet. 

Now  Vi,  this  morning,  wrote  to  me 
A little  note  that  said 
She  much  desired  her  picture  back, 

Since  she  is  soon  to  wed. 

I’d  send  it  gladly,  but,  alas! 

I can’t,  for  I forget 
Which  one  is  Maude,  and  which  is  Madge, 
And  which  is  Violet! 

Strange. 

Knickei — “Memory  is  strange.’’ 
Bocker — “Yes;  the  landlord  remem- 
bers to  lay  in  cheap  summer  coal,  but 
never  remembers  to  have  the  boilers 
overhauled  till  after  a cold  snap.’’ 

jV/IEMBERS  of  all  political  faiths 
favor  the  recall  when  applied  to 
certain  actors. 


The  Millionaire. 

By  JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS. 

THE  Christmas-tide  approaches  me 
And  finds  me  ’mongst  the  mil 
lionaires; 

For  though  I have  no  £ s.  d., 

I likewise  have  no  cares. 

’Tis  true  I have  no  bank  account, 
There’s  mighty  little  in  my  till ; 

But  in  my  heart  there  is  a fount 
Of  unalloyed  good-will. 

And  though  my  pocketbook  is  low, 

Of  gold  and  silver  shows  a dearth, 
There’s  not  a millionaire  I know 
Has  more  of  peace  on  earth. 


T KISSED  beneath  the  mistletoe 
1 The  maid  whose  cheeks  were  painted  ; 

But  I kissed  her  lips,  you  see,  and  so 
The  kisses  weren’t  tainted. 

YOUNG  AMERICA  IN  ENGLAND. 


Teacher — “ Robert,  can  you  spell  hat  ?” 
Robert — “ I can  if  I have  two  chances.” 

Scouts  an’  a Lend  a Hand  Society  an’  a 
Handicraft  Society  an’  the  Good  Samari- 
tans an’  the  Helper’s  Guild,  we  got  con- 
siddable  many  clubs,  after  all.  Each  of 
’em  has  a fair  an’  a couple  o’  entertain- 
ments a year,  so  there’s  something  goin’ 
on  a good  deal  o’  the  club  time,  even  if 
the  club  movement  ain’t  hit  us  very 
hard  yet.” 


1 he  Club  Movement. 


SUPPOSE  that  your  town  is  almost 

* too  small  for  the  club  movement 
to  have  affected  it  much.  A town  of 
only  eight  hundred  inhabitants  seldom 
has  many  clubs,  I believe,’.’  said  the 
stranger  within  the  gates  of  Cherrydale 
to  the  postmaster. 

‘‘Well,  we  ain’t  clubbed  to  death  as 
some  places  seem  to  be;  but  when  you 
come  to  count  ’em  up,  we  got  consid- 
dabie  many  clubs  for  a town  of  our  size. 
We  got  a Women’s  Club  o’  two  hundred 
members,  an’  a Village  Improvement 
Club,  an’  a Ladies’  Social  Club,  an’  a 
Friday  Afternoon  Club,  an’  a big  Choral 
Club,  an’  a Current  Events  Club,  an’  a 
Library  Club,  an’  a Dickens  Club,  an’  a 
Thought  an’  Work  Club,  an’  a Art  Club, 
an’  a mixed  club  that  calls  itself  the 


progress  Club,  an’  a Danc- 
ing Club,  an’  five  whist 
clubs  an’  a Euchre  Club, 
an’  a Saturday  Night  Club. 
Then  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  an’ 
the  Odd  Fellows  an’  the 
Masons  an’  Knights  o’  Py- 
thias an’  the  D.  A.  R.  an’ 
the  G.  A.  R.  an’  the  Ancient 
Order  o’  Hibernians  an’  the 
Eastern  Stars  an’  the  Sons 
o’  Temp’rance  an’  the 
Christian  Endeavorers  all 
have  societies  here,  an’ 
they  are  try in’  to  start  a 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  an’  a Y.  W.  C. 
A.  Then  with  the  Grange 
an’  the  Boys’  Brigade  an’ 
five  churches  an’  some  Boy 


A TIME  FOR  EVERYTHING. 

“ Don’t  eat  so  fast,  Marion.  That  is  not  the  way  ladies  behave.” 
“ Well,  mother,  I am  awful  hungry.  I will  promise  to  behave 
like  a lady  between  meals.” 


QUITE  A SHOCK  FOR  A 


Adaptability. 

Customer — ‘‘Why  do  you  call  this  a 
common-sense  diary?” 

Stationer — ‘‘After  the  first  few  pages 
it’s  ruled  like  a memorandum  book.” 


MAN  WITH  A WEAK  HEART. 


BUBBLES. 


WHEN  earth’s  last  present  is  posted 
and  the  ink  is  blotted  and  dried. 
When  the  Christmas  roses  have  faded 
and  the  Christmas  holly  has  died. 

We  shall  rest,  and,  faith!  we  shall  need 
it — lie  down  for  an  eon  or  two, 

II  the  Master  of  Christmas  giving 
shall  set  us  to  work  anew. 


L’Envoi  of  Christmas  Givers. 

(With  profound  salaams  to  Rudyard  Kipline.) 

By  LIDA  KECK  WIGGINS. 

And  those  who  gave  well  shall  be  happy  ; 
they  shall  sit  in  a rocking  chair; 

They  shall  ’broider  a cherub’s  garments 
with  flosses  of  angels’  hair. 

They  shall  find  real  friends  to  give  to — 
seraphim,  martyrs,  and  all; 

They  shall  fill  up  a million  stockings 
hung  over  a garden  wall. 


And  only  the  Master  shall  praise  us, 
and  only  the  Master  shall  blame; 

And  no  one  shall  give  for  glory,  and  no 
one  shall  give  for  fame. 

But  each  for  the  joy  of  the  giving,  and 
each  with  a soul  sincere, 

Will  give  the  thing  he  holds  precious  to 
the  friend  that  is  really  dear! 


2.  How  would  he  know  that  a lady-shopper  was  buying  her  favorite  perfume  ? 


3.  '•  Ah,  ha  !” 


MISJUDGED. 


4.  “Wretch!” 


Ye  Fytte  of  Ye  Old  and  New 
Loves. 

I TRIED  to  be  off  with  the  old  love 
Before  I was  on  with  the  new, 

But  the  old  love  she  was  a bold  love, 
Who’d  rowed  on  her  college  crew; 

And  when  she  had  heard  of  the  new  love — 
Alas!  that  my  tale  is  true! — 

She  walloped  me  black  and  blue,  love — 
She  walloped  me  black  and  blue ! 

And  so  I am  back  with  the  old  love. 

By  the  old-time  chimney  flue  — 
There’s  nothing  so  cold  as  a cold  love 
The  universe  through  and  through. 
And  here  I am  dreaming  of  you,  love, 
And  what  I shall  whisper  to  you 
When  I have  got  rid  of  my  shrew,  love — 
Ye  gods ! if  I ever  do ! 

A.  SUFFERAN  MANN. 

Seeing  Double. 

Conductor — “We’re  traveling  in  two 
sections  to-night.’’ 

Slightly  intoxicated  passenger — 
“Thatsh  right.  Justh  what  I’ve  been 
trying  to  tell  m’  friends.  Of  coursh  you 
are,  and  I can  see  both  shections  of  you, 
too,  conductor.” 


She  Didn’t  Get  It. 

u'T'HERE  is  a certain  book  in  the 
A library  that  I want,”  said  Mrs. 
Sillyone  to  the  librarian  of  forty  thou- 
sand volumes.  “I  can’t  recall  the  title 
nor  the  name  of  the  author,  but  it  is  a 
book  of  probably  three  or  four  hundred 
pages,  and  it  is  bound  in  dark  green  and 
the  title  is  in  gold  letters  on  it.  It  is 
a story  of  a nobleman  who  discovers, 
after  he  has  married  a lady  of  wealth 
and  title,  that  he  is  a changeling  and 
that  a certain  blacksmith  in  the  town  is 
the  real  nobleman.  A friend  of  mine 
has  read  it  and  she  is  very  anxious  to 
have  me  read  it.  As  I say,  I cannot  re- 
member the  title  of  the  book  or  the 
name  of  the  author,  but  it  is  a book  of 
about  average  size,  and  I wish  that  you 
would  get  it  for  me  as  quick  as  you  can, 
for  my  husband  is  waiting  for  me  in  our 
car  out  in  front  of  the  library,  and  it 
always  irritates  him  to  be  kepi  waiting. 
I’d  like  the  book  right  away,  please.” 

Be  not  resentful  at  the  misfit  present. 


Puzzling. 

By  C.  LESLIE  VAN  EVERY. 

I’M  NOTHING  but  a kid,  I know; 

1 If  you  don’t  b’lieve  that  it  is  so, 
Why,  you  just  go  and  ask  my  dad, 

And  find  out,  too,  if  I am  bad. 

He’ll  speak  right  up  and  say  to  you, 

A better  kid  he  never  knew; 

Then  turn  around — I mean  my  dad — 
The  Christmas  Day  when  all  are  glad 
(An’  company  is  at  our  place, 

An’  ma  has  made  me  wash  my  face), 
An’  it  is  time  for  us  to  eat 
The  turkey  an’  the  stuff  that’s  sweet. 
An’  pass  a drum-stick  to  Aunt  Kate, 

An’  dish  the  neck  out  on  my  plate. 

Now,  I just  know  my  head  ain’t  thick, 
But  I don’t  quite  see  through  dad’s  trick. 

Reconnoitered. 

1V/IAMMA  was  dressing  when  seven- 
A 1 year-old  Freddy  burst  into  the 
room  with  a loud  “Boo!” 

“Why,  Freddy,  dear,”  expostulated 
she,  “you  mustn’t  open  my  door  with- 
out knocking!  I mightn’t  have  been 
dressed  at  all !” 

“Oh,  this  was  all  right!”  said  Freddy. 
“I  looked  through  the  keyhole  first.” 


SHE  HAS  THE  BLUES,  YET  IS  HAPPY. 


ENTER  MR.  BIGTIP. 


It ’s  a Bird. 

Turtle  and  truffle,  tradition  has  stated, 
Undoubtedly  taste  ultra-rare  and  unique; 
Reed-birds,  by  roues,  recherche  are 
rated ; 

Kickshaws  kindle  kings’  appetites  weak. 
Every  one  to  some  edible’s  mated, 

Yet — see  the  initials — ye  yearly  shall 

Seek  ! — James  Adams . 


-ET  ■-»> 

A DOG-GONE  SHAME. 


“ It ’s  awfully  annoying  to  be  forced  to  carry 
such  an  'omely  beast ! ’ 

In  Ohio. 

Visitor — “I  suppose  you  fellows  will 
vote  as  your  fathers  did."” 

Native  (sadly) — “Nope;  we  won’t  get 
a single  cent  for  ours.” 

Knickei — “ ‘Rig  business’  is  any  busi- 
ness that  is  successful.” 

Bocker — “And  a ‘little  girl’  is  any 
girl  you  are  in  love  with  at  the  time.” 


Punkin  Pie. 

By  WILLIAM  J.  LAMPTON. 

■"PHIS  is  the  punkin-pie  season — pun- 
A kin  pie,  mind  you,  not  pumpkin 
pie.  There  is  a culinary  product  known 
as  pumpkin  pie,  and  it  arrogates  this 
season  to  itself ; but  it  is  merely  an  imi- 
tation of  the  genuine  article, 
a fashionable  fancy  found  on 
the  tables  of  the  cultured, 
who  are  more  particular  about 
their  pronunciation  than  they 
are  about  their  pie.  In  the 
good  old  days  there  were  only 
punkin  pies;  but,  with  the 
advent  of  colleges,  universi- 
ties, correspondence  schools, 
and  competitivedictionaries, 
society  assumed  the  high- 
brow manner  and  announced 
that  hereafter  only  pumpkin 
pie  was  good  form.  Of  course 
that  settled  it  for  the  punkin 
pie  of  our  fathers,  as  farasits 
social  position  was  concerned. 

But  what  is  social  position  to 
a pie  when  it  is  punkin? 

Nothing  whatever.  Yester- 
day, to-day  and  forever,  it 
remains  the  same.  The  cul- 
tured society  growing  up 
about  us  and  pink-teaing  out 
its  frivolous  existence  may 
sniff  at  punkin  pie  and  stick 
its  silver  knife  into  pumpkin 
pie;  even  the  newspapersmay 
quote  the  word  “punkin,”  as 
though  the  press  had  quaran- 
tined against  it;  but,  just  the 
same,  a punkin  pie  is  a pun- 
kin pie,  and  all  the  pumpkins 
on  earth  can’t  make  it  any- 
thing else.  It  is  the  embodied 
piety  of  the  martyrs  un- 
changed by  persecution  or 
pronunciation;  and  one  good, 
old-fashioned  punkin  pie  is 
better  eating  than  the  proud- 
est product  of  a pumpkinized 


civilization.  The  pumpkin  may  assume 
exotic  airs  and  graces  and  swing  its  gold- 
en circles  in  the  autumn  sun,  but  scratch 
it  under  the  skin  and  you  will  find  it  is  a 
plain  punkin  and  never  was  anything 
else.  That  is  the  only  reason  a pumpkin 
pie  is  fit  to  eat  at  all. 


NOT  IN  IT. 

“ Here  is  where  I drop  out  of  the  race  ! ” 


ENTER  MR.  SMALLTIP. 


Invention  Needed,  Mr.  Edison ! 


Always  Possible. 


By  GRACE  McKINSTRY. 

(While  the  appearance  of  crinoline  towns  in  Paris  may 
excite  forebodings,  the  New  Yorld  World  does  not  think 
hoop-skirts  will  s ay  revived  " They  are  not  adapted  to 
modern  conditions  of  congestion.”  it  says,) 

PERHAPS  there’s  little  question 
That  modern  street  congestion 
Would  sometimes  interfere  with  hoops; 
but  if  some  way  is  found 
To  shut  them,  like  umbrellas, 

Our  Janes  and  Isabellas, 

By  closing  them  in  crowded  cars,  could 
wear  them,  I’ll  be  bound! 


Stella — “You  can’t  put  an  old  head  on 
young  shoulders.’’ 

Bella — “But  you  can  put  a new  waist 
line  on  any  aged  woman.” 

Advice  to  Employes. 

Earnest  young  wan — “Have  you  any 
advice  to  a struggling  young  employe?” 

Frank  old  gentleman — “Yes.  Don’t 
work.  ” 


J 

WHY  GIRLS  LEAVE  HOME. 


Earnest  young  man — ‘ ‘ Don  ’ t 
work?” 

Frank  old  gentleman  — “No. 
Become  an  employer.” 

Watered  Silk. 

LITTLE  drops  of  water, 

In  the  can  of  milk, 

Bring  the  milkman’s  daughter 
Pretty  gowns  of  silk. 

A Drawback. 

Sage — “Know  thyself.” 

Cynic — “What’s  the  use?  It’s 
not  an  acquaintance  from  whom 
you  can  borrow  money.” 

Ran  in  the  Family. 

Mrs.  Jenks—  “Mr.  Billington 
is  such  a nice  man  and  not  at 


Edith — “ Oh,  dear  me  ! I wish  we  were  home  again  ” 
Ethel — “ I don’t.  Remember  how  we  used  to  do 
dishes  for  a family  of  twelve?" 


Growth  of  the  Farm. 

WE  NOTICE  the  jokes  about  farmers 
grow  less, 

For  the  farmer  himself  has  grown  smart, 
as  you  guess; 

And  he  grows  bigger  crops  by  r.  very 
great  deal, 

So  he  grows  rather  wealthy  and  buys  a 
’mobile ! 

By  a Combination. 

IN  SPITE  of  the  complaint  over  high 
1 prices,  it  is  generally  agreed  that 
silk  stockings  should  be  kept  well  up. 


all  shy  that  I really  can’t  under- 
stand why  he  remains  a bach- 
elor.” 

Mrs.  Tolker  (absent-mindedly) — “Oh, 
I presume  it  is  hereditary.  His  father 
and  grandfather  before  him  were  bach- 
elors probably.” 

Looking  Too  Oft. 
»wice  . . . 

V ...  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with 
its  face, 

We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  em- 
brace.” 

And  so  it  is  with  fashion’s  freaks.  We 
hoot, 

We  tolerate,  and  then  we  follow  suit. 

— Terrell  Love  Holliday. 


The  Recipe. 

B y JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS 

WHO  HOLDS  the  love  of  fellow-men 
Secure  within  his  heart  for  aye, 
Who  uses  mind  and  voice  and  pen 
To  spread  good-will  along  the  way, 
Who  seeks  to  give  all  others  peace, 

To  set  the  whole  sweet  world  in  chime, 
Will  find  the  joys  that  never  cease 
And  endless  Christmastime. 

Alarming. 

DOBINSON,  the  aviator,  who,  flying 
from  St.  Paul  to  New  Orleans, 
dropped  a bolt  from  his  machine  at  an 
altitude  of  three  thousand  feet,  alarmed 
the  spectators,  who  imagined  that  Robin- 
son himself  was  falling.  There  is  other 
cause  for  alarm,  however,  in  the  inci- 
dent. A bolt  falling  from  that  altitude 
is  moving  at  the  rate  of  four  hundred 
and  forty  feet  a second  when  it  stops. 
Old-time  cannon  could  give  no  harder 
blow.  Anything  struck  by  such  an  ob- 
ject would  be  converted  into  fragments. 
The  risk  of  such  occurrences  will  per- 
haps become  serious,  especially  in  fre- 
quented air  lanes  over  inhabited  regions. 
People  will  have  to  live  in  cellars  or 
stringent  regulations  will  have  to  be 
made  for  their  protection. 

No  Chances. 

Tommy — “I  don’t  believe  there’s  a 
Santa  Claus,  and  I’m  going  to  tell 
mamma  so,  too.  ” 

Willie — “Are  you  really?” 

Tommy  — “Yes,  I 
am — the  day  after 
Christmas.” 

Compromise. 

Knicker  — “Trou- 
bles never  come  sin- 
gly.” 

B o ckei “No  ; 

sometimes  they  come 
divorced.  ” 


GOSSIP. 

“ My  husband  says  he  hopes  to  see  the  time  when  every  man  will  own  an  automobile 
“ What  is  your  husband’s  business  ?” 

“ He  is  a divorce  lawyer.” 


BARRIERS. 

“ Is  there  anything  between  you  and  Miss  Van  Doh  ?” 
" Only  her  father  and  mother.” 


Business. 

CHE  WAS  a sentimental 
^ young  girl  and  had  de- 
voted much  time  and  tender 
thought  to  the  home  decora- 
tions for  Christmas.  Her 
surprise  may  be  imagined 
when  she  came  downstairs 
one  morning  and  found  the 
decorations  moved  around. 
The  mistletoe  boughs, .that 
had  been  half  hidden  in  se- 
cluded places,  had  been  sub- 
stituted for  the  holly 
wreaths  and  were  now  hung 
in  the  front  windows,  in 
plain  view  of  passers-by. 

“Say,  sister,”  explained 
her  little  brother,  “you’ve 
had  that  mistletoe  hanging 
up  for  nearly  a week  and 
you  haven’t  had  a single  cus- 
tomer. You’re  not  up-to- 
date.  What  you  want  to  do 
is  to  advertise.  ” 


Christmas  Conviction. 

By  LA  TOUCHE  HANCOCK 

I’M  GETTING  bald,  I am  extremely 
*■  stout, 

And  do  not  hesitate 
To  say  that  Santa  Claus  is  getting  out 
Of  date. 

This  present-giving  is  quite  overdone, 
This  tipping  is  a sin. 

“Merry,”  indeed!  I don’t  see  where 
the  fun 
Comes  in. 

I’m  very  weary  of  this  festive  scene 
Of  peace  and  joy, 

Yet  I suppose  that  once  I must  have  been 
A boy. 

Maybe  these  pleasures  then  were  my 
delight. 

You  ask  me,  “Why  not  now?” 

Well,  how  to  feel  the  same  I do  not  quite 
Know  how. 

Yet  in  this  grumpy  state  I must  confess 
I am  alone, 

And  so  I’ll  make  the  others’  happiness 
My  own ! 

Forestalled. 


Christmas  Aphorisms. 

By  HARVEY  PEAKE 

\JEVER  look  a gift  in  the  cost  mark. 

Mistletoe  makes  the  heart  grow 
fonder. 

All  that  glitters  is  not  a diamond. 

Belief  in  Santa  Claus  is  the  best  policy. 

The  gift  deferred  maketh  the  heart 
sick. 

Invitation  is  the  sincerest  flattery. 

Christmas  bills  are  stubborn  things. 

Buy  gifts  in  haste  and  repent  at  lei- 
sure. 

And  thereby  hangs  a stocking. 

Gifts  are  seldom  what  they  seem. 

Every  Christmas  tree  must  stand  on 
its  own  bottom. 

Uneasy  lies  the  head  that’s  planning 
gifts. 

Santa  Claus  is  not  as  red  as  he  is 
painted. 

One  Christmas  bargain  sale  makes  the 
whole  of  womankind  spin. 

Gifts  make  the  man,  the  want  of 
them  the  fellow. 

To  give  hideous  gifts  is  human,  to 
forgive  impossible. 

Of  two  undesirable  invitations  to  din- 
ner, choose  the  least. 

It  is  a wise  merchant  that  knows  his 
own  goods  when  it  is  brought  back  for 
exchange. 

What  is  sauce  for  the  goose  is  not' 
sauce  for  the  plum  pudding. 

[ ONG  stockings  are  quite  popular 
just  now. 


Deo  Gratis. 

THE  VISITS  of  St.  Nicholas 
No  longer  cause  regret, 

For  I’ve  learned  to  be  real  thankful 
For  the  gifts  I didn’t  get. 


IT’S  NICE  just  now  to  think  of  Christ- 
* mas  joys, 

Of  mistletoe,  and  how  she  must  adore 
you; 

But  there  is  nothing  half  so  much  annoys 
As  when  you  find  your  rival  there  be- 
fore you. 


_____ 


MAGNETIC  ATTRACTION. 

“ Ella  seems  to  attract  the'men,  doesn’t  she?” 
“ Naturally,  her  father  is  a big  steel  magnate.” 


4j'k 


AL 


Why? 

<<D  ELIGIOUS  folks 
•*  are  never  boast- 
ful, are  they,  ma?” 
“Certainly  not, 
child.  But  what  put 
that  idea  into  your  head?” 

“I  noticed,  at  the ‘experience’ 
meeting,  that  many  told  what 
religion  had  done  for  them,  but 
did  not  mention  that  they  had 
done  anything  for  it.” 


The  Editor’s  Stocking. 

HE  LEARNS  to  think  as  time 
unfolds 

That  Christmas  is  a hoax, 

For  every  year  he  finds  it  holds 
The  same  old  jokes. 

— J.  J.  O'  Connell. 


Unusual. 

REEN’S  house  burned  near- 
ly  down  last  night.  Funny 
thing,  too!” 

“What’s  a funny  thing?” 
“Why,  the  fire  did  as  much 
damage  as  the  water.” 

CUFFICIENT  unto  the  day  are 
the  useless  gifts  thereof. 


A NEW  USE. 

Mr.  Sambo  Erastus  White — “ Would  yo’-all 
gimme  five  cents’  worth  of  them  brefflets?” 


What  Makes  a Story. 


Thoughts 

Paper 

Pencil 

Typewriter 


Envelopes 

Stamps 

Check  or  rejection  slip 

—•Max  Irwin  Carruth. 


A Tip  to  Tippers: 

WE  ARE  told  that  ghosts  tip  tables, 
And  a fool  will  tip  a boat; 

But  he  who  tips  the  waiter 

Is  the  man  that  “gets  our  goat.” 


WHAT? 

" Look,  John,  these  are  the  things  I 'm  going  to  give  baby  for  Christmas.  By  the  way, 
dear,  you  really  ought  to  get  him  something.” 


The  Substitute. 

By  JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS. 

’’TTS  VERY  true,  oh,  Heart-Aglow, 

A Above  your  head  no  mistletoe 
Doth  rest;  but  in  your  gladsome  eyes 
A touch  of  all  that’s  Christmas  lies. 

In  them  I see,  alight  and  clear, 

All  sorts  of  messages  of  cheer, 

And  little  hints  of  Yuletide  mirth, 

And  love,  good-will,  and  peace  on  earth. 

There’s  that  within  their  depths  I see 
That  fills  with  bliss  the  heart  of  me — 
The  blessed  things  that  make  the  Yule 
The  gladdest  day  of  love’s  fair  rule; 
And  in  their  sparkle  there’s  a hint 
Of  all  the  joys  that  give  the  tint 
Of  happiness  to  this  rare  time 
To  ease  the  chill  of  frost  and  rime. 


Keeps  Distant. 

< 4 TV /I eFEE  is  a man  who  juggles  with 
the  truth,  isn’t  he?” 

“Well,  I wouldn’t  want  to  put  it  that 
way,”  replied  O’Beetle.  “You  see,  he 
never  gets  near  enough  to  the  truth  to 
juggle  with  it.” 


’"THE  ITCHING  which  some  men  have 
A to  write  is  more  than  occasionally 
cured  by  the  scratching  of  the  editor’s 
blue  pencil. 


Hence,  Heart-Aglow,  why  should  I 
pause, 

Why  should  I hesitate  because 
Above  your  sunny  locks  no  bough 
Of  mistletoe  is  hanging- low? 

Those  eyes  are  mistletoe  enough 
To  ease  my  fears  of  a rebuff, 

And  lure  me  to  these  sundry  sips 
Of  the  rare  nectar  of  your  lips! 


'^JOW  IS  THE  TIME  to  take  your  New 
A Year  resolutions  out  of  storage. 


The  Combination. 

By  McLANDBURGH  WILSON. 

THE  phonograph  is  a machine 
Unrivalled  in  its  ways, 

It  talks  and  talks  and  talks  and  talks 
And  says  the  same  old  phrase. 

The  engine  is  a great  machine 
It  travels  forth  and  back, 

And  runs  and  runs  and  runs  and  runs 
Upon  the  same  old  track. 

The  candidate  is  a machine 
Which  combination  brings; 

He  runs  and  talks  and  runs  and  talks 
Upon  the  same  old  things. 


In  Anticipation. 

First  father  — “Say,  that  new 
doctor  knows  his  game,  all  right.” 
Second  ditto — “How’s  that?” 
First  father  — “He  gave  every 
boy  in  the  ward  a new  jackknife  for 
a Christmas  present.” 

LITTLE  beefsteak  parties, 
Little  poker  decks 
Make  our  dear  old  daddy 
Add  a figure  to  our  checks. 


We  Have  With  Us 

Again  this  Winter 
1VAEMORIES  of  the  hard  winter 
iVA  of  ’51. 

The  last  survivor  of  the  big  bliz- 
zard of  ’32. 

The  regular  cold-weather  advance 
in  the  price  of  eggs,  milk,  butter, 
apples,  vegetables,  meats,  and 
everything  else. 

The  newspaper  story  of  the  small 
boy  with  his  tongue  fast  to  a frosty 
post. 

The  skating  pictures  on  the  mag- 
azine covers. 

The  absent-minded  man  who  shov- 
els off  the  roof  just  as  you  are  passing 
beneath. 

The  same  old  skating  jokes  on  the  in- 
side pages. 


Obsolete  Home. 

By  ELLIS  O.  JONES. 

’|\AID  pleasures  and  palaces, 
1V1  Tho’  we  may  roam. 
There’s  something  destroying 
The  old-fashioned  home. 

The  cause  is  not  clear, 

But  certainly  we  know, 
Wherever  we  travel, 

There’s  something  like  Reno. 


BURBANK  PRODUCES  A SQUARE  PEA  SO  THAT  THE 
NEWLY  RICH  CAN  EAT  THEM  WITH  A KNIFE. 

Call  Him  Off. 

\|OT  LONG  ago,  Mr.  Carnegie,  of 
New  York,  Pittsburgh,  and  Scot- 
land, established  a fund  for  the  further- 
ance of  the  cause  of  universal  peace, 
and  since  that  time  has  himself  spoken 
and  written  constantly  on  the  subject. 
As  a result,  China  is  in  a turmoil  of 
civil  war,  Italy  has  attacked  Turkey, 
Russia  has  threatened  Persia,  Haiti  has 
boiled  over,  Mexico  has  had  a bloody 
revolution,  and  goodness  knows  what 
else  may  be  going  on  by  the  time  these 
words  are  read.  We  suggest  that  Andy 
broil  his  doves  of  peace  and  eat  them  as 
soon  as  possible. 

Matrimonial  Mathematics. 

IN  UNION  there  is  strength, 

* My  wife  and  I are  ten; 

She’s  the  one,  I am  the  naught, 

That's  the  way  it’s  always  been. 


THE  MUSICIAN. 

Alas,  Not  So! 

COME  uninformed  stranger,  coming 
suddenly  upon  that  recent  marvelous 
display  of  battleships  mobilized  in  the 
Hudson  River,  at  New  York,  might  have 
been  easily  persuaded  that  the  United 
States,  after  long  provocation,  had 
lost  patience  and  declared  war  on  New 
Jersey. 

A GIFT  in  the  house  is  worth  two  in 
the  store. 


"THE  LITTLE  ILLS  OF  LIFE  ARE  THE  HARDEST 
TO  BEAR.” 


“GOODNESS!  WHAT  AN  AWFUL  RACKET  YOU 
ARE  MAKING,  LITTLE  BOY.” 

“SURE  ! YOUSE  DON’T  EXPECT  ME  TO  PUT  RUB- 
BER TIRES  ON  DIS  BUNCH  OF  JUNK,  DO  YOU  ?” 

Hens  that  won’t  lay  while  eggs  are 
high. 

Neighbors  that  refuse  to  shovel  their 
walks. 

The  cop  that  makes  you  keep  yours 
clean. 

Vindication  of  the  goose-bone  weather 
prophets. 

The  ice  men — original  weather  profits. 

The  stalled  motor  car. 

The  velvet  ear  bobs. 

The  gumboot  and  the  galoshe. 

The  same  old  cold  and  cough. 

— Den.  Camertn  Shafer. 


CHRISTMAS  SOMEWHERE. 


Christmas  Heroes. 


Inclined  to  Get  Under  It. 

A LITTLE  holly,  now  and  then, 

Is  relished  by  the  married  men; 
But  tastes  of  maidens — well,  you  know, 
They  lean  toward  the  mistletoe. 

Poor  Father. 

itTV/ELL,  what  did  you  get  on  Christ- 
" mas?” 

‘‘A  notice  from  the  bank  that  my  ac- 
count was  overdrawn.” 

Suspicious. 

Nurse — “Here  is  a little  brother  for 
Christmas.” 

Johnny — “Looks  like  some  one  had 
passed  on  the  one  they  got  last  year.” 


'T'HE  PARENT  who  trundles  a load  of 
1 presents  home  at  midnight,  so  that 
the  children  won’t  see  them. 

The  host  who  carves  the  turkey  of  all 
the  choice  parts  and  then  looks  happy 
while  he  eats  what  is  left. 

The  young  man  who  starts  for  a bunch 
of  girls  under  the  mistletoe  and  kisses 
the  one  who  is  too  old  to  run  away. 

The  kid  who  won’t  ask  Santa  Claus 
for  a bobsled  and  pair  of  skates  because 
his  mother  is  afraid  he  will  break  his 
neck  or  get  drowned. 

The  newlywed  who  will  pretend  to 
like  his  wife’s  first  mince  pie  and  ask 
for  another  piece. 


The  fond  parent  who  will  work  all 
night  with  an  axe  and  saw  to  adapt  the 
Christmas  tree  to  the  modern  flat. 

The  married  man  who  wears  the  neck- 
tie and  smokes  the  cigars  his  wife  gave 
him. 

The  good-natured  man  who  rigs  him- 
self up  to  impersonate  Santa  Claus  at 
the  children’s  entertainment. 

The  fellow  who  hocks  his  overcoat  to 
ouy  his  girl  a present. 

The  present-givers  who  stint  them- 
selves the  rest  of  the  year  in  order  to 
keep  up  appearances. 

Last,  but  not  least,  the  man  who  re- 
fuses to  tip  the  janitor. 


ANOTHER  CHRISTMAS  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO. 


The  Gay  Yuletide. 

By  ELIZABETH  PENN  THORNE. 

NOW  comes  the  season  of  the  year 
When  gifts  pour  in  from  every  side, 
And  joyous  chaos  reigns  supreme — 

The  hall-mark  of  the  gay  Yuletide. 

What  matters  it  if  half  your  gifts 
Spell  repetition  without  end? 

That’s  not  the  thing  that  counts;  it’s  all 
The  loving  thoughts  that  people  send. 

And  so,  though  wrappings  should  disclose 
Half-hose  enough  to  stock  a store, 
And  smoking-jackets  line  each  chair, 
And  four-in-hands  are  yours  galore, 

It  matters  not  at  all,  because 
The  real  joy  always  wiil  amount 
Not  to  the  way  gifts  classify, 

But  to  the  loving  thoughts  they  count. 

Borrowing  Trouble. 

Ted — “I  hope  you  gave  your  girl  a 
Christmas  present  that  will  cause  her  to 
long  remember  you.” 

Ned — “I  don’t  know  about  that;  but 
it’s  a constant  reminder  to  me,  for  I 
bought  it  on  the  installment  plan.” 


Scientific  Facts  about  Christmas. 

By  HOMER  CROY. 

IN  South  America  luscious  fruit  is 
1 eaten  under  an  electric  fan  on  Christ- 
mas Day. 

In  St.  Vladivostok,  Russia,  the  house- 
hold servants  refuse  to  take  a Christmas 
tip. 

Merchants  and  shopkeepers  in  some 
cities  in  Europe  don’t  present  their  bills 
until  two  months  after  Christmas.  A 
happy  idea. 

A province  in  Bavaria  has  passed  a 
law  making  it  an  offense  to  give  a tie  as 
a Christmas  present. 

In  Vlaatsburg  the  fuel  dealers  present 
their  customers  with  a ton  of  coal  on 
Christmas  Day. 

In  New  Freeland  the  man  does  not 
have  to  carve  the  roast,  it  being  con- 
sidered better  form  to  have  the  butler 
serve  it. 

In  Spitzdorf,  Utopia,  the  city  clears 
off  the  sidewalk  free  of  charge  Christ- 
mas morning. 


A Christmas  Acrostic. 

Alluring  associations, 

Mistletonian  merriment. 
Essential  enthusiasm. 

Restless  rejoicing, 

Relished  refreshment, 

Yuletide  yearnings, 

Cheerful  congeniality, 

Holiday  heartiness, 
Remunerative  regard, 
Irresistible  invitations, 
Seasonable  sentiment, 
Thoughtful  tenderness, 
Monetary  magnanimity, 
Affectionate  affability, 
Successful  surprises. 

— Harvey  Peake. 

Improved. 

Crabshaw — “Don’t  you  think,  my 
dear,  that  you  bought  a rather  inferior 
lot  of  Christmas  presents  to  give  your 
friends?” 

Mrs.  Crabshaw — “They’ll  look  all 
right  when  I’ve  put  them  in  these  sweet 
little  boxes  and  tied  them  up  with  this 
lovely  ribbon.” 


A HOLIDAY  WISH 


By  JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS. 


WHEN  SANTA  CLAUS  doth  visit  me 
With  richly  laden  pack  of  toys. 
And  tumbles  down  my  chim-i-ney 
To  scatter  'round  his  Christmas  joys, 

I trust  that  he  will  bring  the  kind 
That  an  be  shared,  for  it  is  true. 

Past  peradventurc  to  my  mind 
That  joy  is  sweeter  shared  by  two. 


NEVER  CARED  for  solitaire. 

I do  no  not  pine  for  lonely  things. 
I love  the  pleasure  I can  share 
Because  of  all  the  fun  it  brings. 

A selfish  pleasure  loses  zest 

With  none  to  share  it  with  you  by. 
And  shrinks  the  longer  'tis  possest. 

While  joys  divided  multiply. 


1.  Ah  suttenly  does  feel  sorry  foah  yo’  all.  Ain’t  got  no 
perfection  foah  dat  ol'  bald  head.” 


2.  “ Hoi’  on  dar  ! Doan'  yo'  git  gay 
wid  me." 


The  Woman  of  To  -morrow. 


By  HENRY  PHILLIPS. 


«pOME  right  up  on  the  porch,  Mr. 

Interviewer.  And  please  don’t 
take  off  your  hat  for  me — I'm  not  roy- 
alty. I can  get  a chair  myself,  if  you 
please ! My  age?  Forty-six  next  March 
— and  I think  I look  it,  don’t  you? 
Have  a cigar?  They’re  very  mild — I 
can’t  stand  black  ones  yet.  Now:  Yes, 
my  next  book  is  to  be  called  ‘The 
Dearslayer.  ’ It’s  not  a parody  on 
J.  Fenimore,  either,  but  a thrust 
at  those  of  our  sex  who  still  per- 
mit themselves  to  be  ‘deared’  to 
death  by  men. 

‘‘Oh,  don’t  mind  those  ashes! 

My  husband  can  clear  them  away.’ 

Now  that  you  mention  race  sui- 
cide, I want  to  be  put  on  record 
as  opposing  the  movement.  I am 
willing  to  run  the  risk  of  sex  sui- 
cide— men  never  perish  at  the  birth 
of  their  children,  you  must  admit 
— with  always  the  hope  of  bear- 
ing a daughter  who  may  one  day  be 
President!  Motherhood  has  been 
unspeakably  ennobled  by  woman 
being  granted  her  rights,  you  see. 

I draw  no  line  of  distinction  in 
sex.  Woman;  man — a 
vides  them.  I say,  divide  the  skirt 
then!  Yes,  pants!  We’ve  been 
weblegged  long  enough.  Take 
away  the  unsanitary  curtain,  and 
the  mystery  for  Peeping  Toms  is 
gone  and  the  noble  vocation  of  many 
men  hanging  around  windy  corners  is 
gone  with  it.  I repeat,  what  man  can 
do — woman  can  do  it,  too.  She  is  his 
equal. 

“Carry  a hod?  A healthy  baby 
weighs  as  much  as  your  hod,  doesn’t  it? 
Yes,  she  should  do  her  share  of  military 
service.  The  Amazons  conquered  their 
male  enemies,  didn’t  they?  It’s  won- 


derful how  much  several  thousand  years 
of  inactivity  can  undo  for  a human  be- 
ing! Our  weakness  has  become  a habit. 
Aren’t  our  cooks,  for  example,  stronger 
than  many  of  our  husbands?  When  will 
woman  doff  her  barbaric  plumage — her 
peacock  gowns,  lace,  rings  on  ears  and 
hands,  feathered  hats,  and  fol-de-rols? 


Then  you  don’t  know  why  she  wears 
them.  To  please,  to  charm,  to  capture 
the  men,  of  course.  With  trousers,  her 
gowns  will  go,  likewise  lace  lingerie. 
As  for  rings  in  her  ears,  men  bought 
them  and  put  them  there.  We  wear 
rings  on  our  hands  because  men  do,  and 
suffrage  will  take  feathers  from  the 
hats.  Long  hair  has  been  unsanitary 
and  bothersome  long  enough,  and  I was 


informed  confidentially  by  a woman 
scientist  of  high  standing  that  hair  cut 
off  the  head  would  grow  on  the  face  in 
time  if  properly  coaxed.  She  insists 
that’s  the  way  men  got  ’em.  Her  hus- 
band invented  the  Lady’s  Painless 
Safety  Razor.  On  that  authority  Shav- 
ing Clubs  have  been  organized  all  over 
the  country.  My  club  has  pre- 
sented me  with  a gold  safety  razor. 
Several  of  my  friends  are  culti- 
vating hair  moles  on  their  faces, 
while  my  mother  has  a mustache 
that  many  a man  may  envy.  I 
trust  I inherit  it! 

“How  about  women  sailors, 
women  policemen,  women  stokers? 
But  why  go  on  when  I simply  ask, 
how  about  men  dressmakers,  men 
nurses,  men  cooks,  ad  infinitum? 
In  the  future  it  will  be  merely  a 
matter  of  supply  and  demand  — 
and  who  answers  the  want  ad. 
first.  Down  with  the  barrier! 
We  don’t  want  your  seats  in  pub- 
lic conveyances,  so  don’t  give 
them  up  and  grumble  about  it. 
Give  up  the  sham  of  appearing 
to  win  the  woman  you  want. 
Give  us  the  credit  we  deserve 
and  be  honest.  And  if  Miss  Air- 
dale  does  chase  Mr.  Catt  into  the 
marriage  net,  that’s  not  a suf- 
ficient reason  why  she  should  be  a 
Catt  forever  after  and  that  some  dear, 
sweet  girls  for  whom  she  alone  is  re- 
sponsible should  be  simply  the  little 
Catts — until  some  other  man  with  a 
worse  name  comes  along  and  labels 
them.  Why  shouldn't  he  take  her  name 
for  a change? — it’s  often  much  prettier. 
Or,  at  least,  they  should  be  called  the 
Airdale-Catts. 

“But  the  possibilities  of  the  race  have 


skirt  di- 


SHIKTING  THE  RESPONSIBILITY. 

Miss  “ I wonder  why  this  Santa  Claus  myth  is  kept  alive?” 
Missus — “ Oh,  that  is  so  the  children  can’t  blame  their  par 
ents  for  their  disappointments.” 


3 ' Look  heah  : you  come  back  wif  dat  bumbril  Ah  may  need  dal.' 


4 Did  Ah  say  Ah  felt  sorry  foah  dat  bird  ? ' 


HEARD,  BUT  NOT  SEEN. 

Friend  cn  next  street — “ Hello.  Smith  1 I hear  you  have  a 
youngster  at  you  house." 

.Smith — ’ Great  Scott  1 can  you  hear  it  that  far?" 


You  Mistake  Our  Meaning. 

A MAN  is  being  sued  in  New  York 
for  $25,000  for  kicking  his  cook. 
He  is  trying  to  prove  an  alibi.  We 
make  no  guess  at  his  guilt  or  innocence, 
but  the  very  fact  that  a man  might  be 
accused  of  such  an  act  strikes  us  breath- 
less with  awe  When  we  give  orders 
to  the  kitchen,  we  do  it  through  a crack 
in  the  door.  And  there  have  been 
times — we  say  this  in  whispers  and  urge 
that  you  let  it  get  no  further — 
when  we  would  have  been  willing 
to  borrow  $25,000  and  spend  it 
upon  the  merely  momentary  lux- 
ury of  one  good,  swift — Hush! 
we  hear  some  one  moving  in  the 
pantry  ! For  heaven’s  sake,  hush  ! 


Her  Choice. 

ISi  TUDOR  JENKS. 

T HAVE  found  out  the  gift  for 
my  fair, 

The  gift  even  she  must  admire; 

Tis  neither  bright  snoods  for  her 
hair, 

Nor  bonbons  nor  'broidered  at- 
tire. 

There  are  flowrets  that  nod  in  the 
dell. 

There  are  blooms  on  the  upland 
and  lea ; 

But  my  lady  disdains  their  weak 
spell — 

Such  boons  are  too  trivial  for 
me. 


But  I’ve  found  out  the  gift  for  my 
love — 

A gift  without  blemish  or  speck. 

Tis  neither  a ribbon  nor  glove — 

It’s  a whacking  big  certified  check. 


now  become  too  numerous  to  discuss 
fully.  Give  us  a chance  and  we  will 
produce  a race  of  women  that  men  will 
not  want  to  pet  into  imbecility  and  who 
will  treat  with  man  on  a rational  basis 
only.  Give  us  time  and  we  will  bring 
our  institutions  to  the  point  where  our 
sister  Eve  left  off.” 

Young  Scrooge. 

'V^OUNG  Scrooge  enters  the  elevator 
A and  sees  a little  box  hanging  up, 
adorned  with  holly  and  red  ribbon 
and  bearing  a card:  ‘‘Remember 
the  Elevator  Boy.  Merry  Christ- 
mas!” 

‘‘I  remember  you,  Joseph,” 
he  says.  “I  remember  how  you 
ran  past  me  ninety-five  times  last 
summer,  just  to  show  me  that  you 
were  running  this  elevator.  I re- 
member you  all  right.” 

Y U C This  Here. 

OF  Christmas  mirth  there  was  a 
dearth 

This  year,  and  so,  you  see, 

The  editor  was  happy  for 
This  little  verse  from  me. 

Remarks  of  Santa  Claus. 

Made  to  ./  .1  0 COXXELL 

T’M  AFRAID  the  ladies  will  soon 
get  soured  on  me  if  I don’t  have 
a vote  to  put  in  their  stockings. 

The  world  is  getting  better,  and 
now,  with  everything  honestly 
stamped  and  labeled,  I can  hand 
out  the  presents  without  feeling  that 
I’m  an  old  fraud. 

I’m  glad  I am  far  away  and  don’t  hear 
what  is  said  about  me  when  the  bills 
for  all  these  things  come  in  at  New 
Year’s. 

There  doesn’t  seem  to  be  much  in  all 
this  race-suicide  talk. 

I should  get  through  early  this  year, 
with  a pack  that  isn’t  out  of  all  propor- 


tion. It's  a lucky  thing  for  me  that 
women’s  hats  are  growing  smaller 
again. 

It  gets  me  all  twisted  when  1 have  to 
put  these  mannish  presents  in  the  New 
Woman’s  stocking. 

I feel  sorry  for  the  hard-luck  fellows 
when  I have  to  hand  them  some  more 
lemons  this  year. 

No  wonder  I have  such  a lot  of  junk 
to  deliver,  for  the  rich  have  no  little 
stockings  to  fill. 


I must  get  rid  of  all  my  drums,  tin 
whistles,  skates,  and  bobsleds  before 
they  inaugurate  the  safe  and  sane 
Christmas. 

There’s  something  wrong  with  the 
world.  I don’t  have  many  presents  to 
give  out  where  most  of  the  kids  are. 

'T'HE  aftermath  of  Christmas — devis- 
ing a way  to  pay  for  them  all. 


Modern  Facilities. 

Mrs.  Cobwigger — ‘‘What  was  all  that 
noise  you  were  making  on  the  roof?” 
Freddy — ‘‘I  was  building  an  aero- 
drome for  Santa  Claus,  so  he  could  land 
in  his  airship  near  our  chimney.’ 


• • 


JAlllEc  MOirTSOMETOr  Fi.*SC 


SIMILIS  SIMILI  CURANTUR. 


Girl  (preparing  little  flat  supper) — “ You  won’t  mind  if  I use  my  hands  on  these  cakes,  because  ” 

Student  boy — “ Oh,  go  ahead,  don't  mind  me.  I 'm  just  off  a cattleboat  where  we  ate  like  pigs  !” 


The  Circus  Press  Agent  Writes  about  the  Sunday-school  Christmas  Entertainment. 


TT  WAS  Christmas  Eve  and  the  Cireus 
Press  Agent  called  in  to  see  his  old 
friend,  the  Editor.  Everybody  around 
the  office  was  hard  at  work,  and  the 
Editor  handed  the  Agent  a slip  of  paper 
and  said,  “That  is  the  program 
of  a Sunday-school  entertainment 
that  is  being  given  to-night.  I 
wish  you  would  write  a line  about 
it  and  help  us  out. ” “Sure!”  said 
the  Circus  Man,  and  the  following 
is  his  story  of  the  Christmas  ex- 
ercises he  never  saw: 

On  Christmas  Eve  the  Broadway 
Sunday  School  gave  the  Most  Su- 
perb, Sumptuous,  Sensational,  Co- 
lossal, Multi-natured  exhibition  of 
unparalleled  Christmas  Features 
ever  before  seen,  conceived,  or  at- 
tempted. Long  before  the  hour  for 
the  performance  to  begin,  the 
Enormous,  New,  Beautiful,  rain- 
proof Church  was  filled  to  the  doors 
with  old  and  young,  waiting  with 
bated  breath  for  the  Bewilderingly 
Lavish  Spectacle  to  begin.  Prior 
to  the  Grand  Triumphal  Entry  of 
the  Children  of  the  School,  the  re- 
nowned Mile.  Marie  Murphie  gave 


By  MORRIS  ANDERSON. 

a wonderfully  adroit  and  Astonishing 
performance  on  that  most  beautifully 
toned  and  difficult  of  all  instruments — 
the  Sunday-school  Organ. 

At  seven-thirty  the  fair  musician 


RAMBLERS. 

He — " I bet  you  a kiss  I steal  a kiss  from  you.” 
She — “ And  I bet  you  two  kisses  you  can’t.” 


swung  into  the  galloping  strains  of  a 
march,  the  rear  doors  were  thrown  open, 
and  there  entered  the  Elegant,  Spec- 
tacular, Classically  Bewildering,  Tre- 
mendously Resplendent  Inaugural  Grand 
Entree  of  the  scholars  of  the  Enor- 
mous Combined  andUnited Classes, 
each  led  by  its  trainers  and  teach- 
ers, carrying  costly  banners  and 
singing  songs  of  Christmas  cheer. 
Truly  reproducing  in  Fabulous 
Magnificence  and  Profusion  the 
Pomp  of  Pageantry  and  Splendors 
of  the  Ancients,  together  with  the 
Colossal,  Massive,  Processional 
Marvels  of  the  Orient.  The  Acme 
and  Idealization  of  Gorgeousness, 
without  peer  or  parallel.  The  Most 
Supremely  Attractive  and  Super- 
eminently Grand  processional  Ava- 
lanche that  has  ever  moved  in 
Pomp  and  Glittering  Splendor 
through  any  Sunday  School  in  the 
Universe. 

The  first  feature  on  this  all- 
feature program  was  the  first  ap- 
pearance on  any  stage  of  Little 
Miss  Smitho,  in  a very  Clever, 
Dexterous,  and  Sensationally 


( 


IMMENSELY. 

He — “ What  sort  of  a part  has  she  in  your  new  show?  Do  you  think  she  ’ll  please  the  audience?' 
She — “ She  ought  to.  She  gets  killed  in  the  first  act.” 


satisfying  presentation  of  the  World’s 
Famous  Masterpiece,  “The  Night  Be- 
fore Christmas.” 

In  the  next  event  some  very  Amazing 
and  Diversified  athletic  feats  were  fear- 
lessly performed  with  Rare  grace  and 
aplomb  upon  a Grand  piano  by  the  aston- 
ishingly clever  expert  in  classical  selec- 
tions— Miss  Jeanette  De  Kellie. 

The  next  feature  was  a sextet  of 
Superb  and  Pleasingly  Fancy  drillers 
and  singing  experts  from  the  World’s 
Greatest  Primary  Department.  Uni- 
versally recognized  as  peerless  in  their 
brilliant  and  beautiful  costumes.  Abso- 
lutely above  the  reach  of  all  rivalry. 
The  only  Sunday  School  in  all  the  land 
big  enough,  rich  enough,  or  prodigious 
enough  to  produce  such  a miracle  of 
Educated  Action  and  Infallible  calcula- 
tion. 

Display  number  four  consisted  of  an 
Unequal  and  Unapproachable  display  of 
Christmas  oratory  by  Parson  Davis. 

At  this  point  on  the  program  came  a 
Wild,  Rash,  Audacious,  Impetuous  ex- 
hibition of  nerve  and  courage  utterly  un- 
paralleled among  the  Daring,  Death 
Defying  Deeds  so  often  seen  upon  the 
usual  Sunday  School  program;  presented 
in  its  audacious  yet  artistic  awfulness 
with  such  utter  disregard  of  danger  as 
to  Astonish,  Startle,  and  Stupefy  the 
spectator.  A Diabolical  descent  down 
absolutely  perpendicular  surfaces — truly 
a dizzy,  Dreadful,  dauntless  trip — yet 
with  a smile  the  Earth’s  Greatest  Santa 
Claus  dropped  out  of  the  chimney  into 
the  fireplace,  and,  with  a supreme  howl 
of  glee  from  the  youngsters,  leaped  to 


the  center  of  the  elevated  stage  and  be- 
gan to  open  his  pack.  Simultaneously 
the  two  Enormous,  Superb,  Glittering, 
Transcendentally  Beautiful  Christmas 
trees  flashed  forth  like  some  scene  from 
glorious  fairy  land,  each  lighted  by 
thousands  of  colored  electric  lights  and 
Oriental  candles.  Each  and  every  tree 
loaded  with  an  overwhelming,  unknown 
opulence  of  princely,  priceless  presents. 
Waxen  dolls,  alphabetical  blocks,  fables 
and  legends  of  elf  and  Mother  Goose  lore 
superbly  printed  on  costly  linen,  curious 
and  pleasing  animate  and  inanimate 
toys,  and  hundreds  of  other  novel  and 


attractive  features  too  numerous  to  par- 
ticularize. 

Positively  and  without  fear  of  con- 
tradiction the  two  enormous,  united 
Christmas  trees  contained  more  toys, 
books,  and  other  features  than  were  ever 
possessed  by  ten  trees  of  like  character. 
Tropical  oranges  and  sacks  of  choicest 
candies  were  quickly  passed  to  the 
happy,  bright-faced  children,  and  met 
with  their  instant  and  unqualified  ap- 
proval and  applause.  Thus  ended  the 
most  important,  impressive,  composite 
Christmas  exhibitional  enterprise  ever 
conceived,  so  vast  and  multifarious  in 
its  combination  of  amusement  features 
as  to  dazzle  the  intellect,  and  yet  pre- 
sented to  the  scholars  of  this  enormous 
Sunday  School  as  free  as  the  air  you 
breathe. 

The  Rubbish  Receptacle. 

By  LA  TOUCHE  HANCOCK. 

TALK  about  a schoolboy’s  pocket! 

Here  I found  a broken  locket, 
Matches  and  a cake  of  soap. 

Garters  and  a piece  of  rope, 

Dirty  ribbon,  blue  in  bag, 

Empty  pin  paper  and  rag, 

Foot  of  stocking,  powder  spilt, 

Several  tassels  off  the  quilt, 

Scores  of  letters,  rubber  bands, 

Stuff  for  whitening  of  the  hands, 

Pins  for  hair  and  pins  for  hat, 

With  an  ancient  hermit  “rat,” 

Rubbish,  dust,  and  crumbs  galore — 

All  these  things  and  plenty  more, 
Topsy-turvy,  in  a mess, 

I discovered.  Where?  Well,  guess! 

In  a drawer — ’twas  really  so — 

In  my  charming  wife’s  bureau! 


SOMETIMES. 

“ Yes,  Aunt  Mary  went  out  without  her  rubbers,  and  now  she  is  in  heaven.” 
“ My,  my  ! what  dreadful  things  result  from  a little  carelessness.” 


HOME-KEEPING  HEARTS  ARE  HAPPIEST. 


The  Reformer. 


By  JOHN  K.  LtBARON. 


enough. 

So  he  labored  away  by  night  and  by  day, 
Without  any  reward  or  bounty; 

But  a State,  he  found,  covered  too  much 
ground, 

So  he  just  tried  Posey  County. 

But  his  labor,  ’twas  plain,  was  prac- 
tically vain, 

At  last  he  was  forced  to  confess; 

So  he  spent  his  last  days  in  reforming 
his  ways, 

And  met  with  much  better  success. 

Flinders. 

'T'HE  school  of  experience  has  many 
pupils — so  many  of  its  graduates 
return  for  a post  course. 

When  in  doubt — remain  single. 

Of  all  sad  words  of  tongue  or  pen, 

The  saddest  are  these — Ma’s  at  Reno 
again ! 


<<T)A,  why  does  the  eye  have  lashes?” 
‘‘Because  it  has  a pupil,  my  son.” 


AMBIGUOUS. 

“ Will  it  injure  the  grass  if  I walk  on  it?” 

" Injure  it?  Bless  yer,  no,  mum.  It ’s  the 
same  as  the  roller — does  it  good.” 


“Rabid  Transit.” 

Train  after  train  the  toil-worn  thou- 
sands try, 

Hatefully  hustled  as  they  homeward  hie. 
Engirt  by  errant  eves  with  eagle  eye. 

Seething  in  subterranean  stockade, 
Unhappy  urbans,  urgent,  unafraid, 
Battle  before  the  bedlam  barricade. 
Wary  wage-earners  wait  without  the 
wall, 

As  arrogant  attaches,  athletes  all, 

Yank  yelling  youngsters  from  the  yawn- 
ing track. 

Shouting,  ‘‘The  system’s  stalled  again! 

Stand  back  ! — James  Adams. 

Memoranda. 

A FTER  all,  the  upper  crust  is  made 
**  out  of  the  same  dough  as  the  lower. 

A politician  is  known  by  the  promises 
he  keeps. 

If  you  elect  small  statesmen,  how  can 
you  expect  them  properly  ta  consider  the 
country  at  large? 

Eternal  visitation  is  the  price  of  rel- 
atives. 

Ignorance  of  the  law  excuses  no  one 
— you  must  have  money  or,  at  least,  a 
good  lawyer. 


SIGHTS  AND 


PRINCESS  FIFI. 

By  ELLIS  PARKER  BUTLER.  Author  of  " Piet  h Pit' ■” 

REMEMBER  meeting  a snake  killer 
once,  in  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau,” 
said  the  man  with  the  beard,  ‘‘and  I 
asked  him — he  was  an  old,  old  man — 
what  he  got  for  killing  the  vipers,  and  he 

said  half  a sou  apiece.  Now,  half  a” 

‘‘Speaking  of  half  a sou  and  snakes,” 
the  stout,  bald-headed  man,  ‘‘reminds  me 
tie  time  I was  managing  Princess  Fifi. 

; was  her  stage  name,  and  when  I took  her 
le  was  doing  the  bifurcated  lady  act.  It 
a good  act.  Pull  aside  the  curtain  and 
there  she  was — just  half  a lady,  sawed  off  at  the  waist — 
swinging  on  a trapeze.  It  was  a great  hit  in  those  days,  until 
all  the  side  shows  got  them.  Her  name  was  Sue — Sue  Maxon. 
That’s  how  the  mention  of  half  a sou  happened  to  make  me 
think  of  her. 

‘‘Of  course,  you  understand,  she  wasn’t  sawed  in  two. 
That  was  an  optical  delusion,  done  with  mirrors;  and  a good 
act  it  was,  until  our  mirrors  got  broken  in  the  wreck  at  Con- 
nersville.  So  I talked  it  over  with  Sue — we’d  been  married 
a couple  of  years  then — and  she  said,  ‘Chuck  it!’  She  said 
the  bifurcated  lady  act  was  played  out,  anyway,  and  her  idea 
was  to  go  back  to  snake  charming. 

‘‘In  the  old  days  Sue  had  been  a star  snake  charmer.  Not 
one  of  these  modern  petticoats  that  stand  up  and  sort  of  slosh 
round  a toothless  old  snake  or  two,  but  the  real  thing.  She 
didn’t  care  what  snake  you  gave  her.  She  would  take  a new 
rattler,  fresh  from  a hot  rock,  and  make  it  act  like  a tame 
kitten.  Oh,  she  was  the  real  thing! 


rr  * si  • -i 


TOUJOURS  LA  POLITESSE. 

Stout  and  cautious  gallant — “ You  first,  madam  !” 


‘‘Princess  Fifi — that  was  the  name  she  charmed  under  in 
the  old  days.  So  when  we  had  our  mirror  outfit  broken,  like 
I said,  Princess  Fifi  said,  ‘Tom,  let’s  chuck  this 
show  and  the  bifurcated  act.  I’ve  got  a hunch  we 
could  make  a hit  in  Australia  or  Austria  or  some 
new  place  with  the  snake  act.’  I was  willing 
enough.  I had  enough  in  the  bank  to  get  a good 
bunch  of  reptiles  and  pay  our  fare  and  get  a swell 
rig  for  Sue,  and  we  took  passage  on  a steamer  for 
Austria.  Australia  was  too  far  away  for  me. 

‘‘Well,  luck  seemed  dead  against  us.  First  the 
wreck  of  the  train,  and  then  a shipwreck.  It  was 
a terrible  night,  and  when  Sue  and  I came  ashore 
— for  you  bet  I wasn’t  going  to  let  Sue  get  far 
away,  if  I had  to  follow  her  to  the  bottom  of  the 
sea — we  had  no  idea  where  we  were,  and  we  hadn’t 
a thing  but  the  clothes  on  our  backs. 

“‘Sue,’  I said,  ‘this  beats  the  Dutch,  doesn’t 


ATTRACTIONS  AT  ATLANTIC  CITY. 


•l.^k  WVVWW’ 


it?  Stranded  right  on  a real  strand,  not 
a cent,  wet  through,  and  the  devil  to 
pay  generally!’ 
“ ‘Oh,  brace 
up,  Tom!’  she 
said.  ‘It  ain’t 
so  bad  ! I don’t 
care  where  we 
are,  I can  make 
food  and  lodg- 
ing. All  I need  any  day  is  a snake  or 
two,  and  I’ll  get  carfare  out  of  the  na- 
tives; and  if  there  ever  was  a stretch  of 
landscape  that  looked  like  a home  for 
snakes,  this  is  it.  I know  snakes  and 
their  habits,  and  I’ll  have  a half  dozen 
in  a half  hour.  Cut  me  a forked  stick.’ 


“Well,  I cut  a forked  stick,  and  off 
Sue  went  one  way  and  off  I went  an- 
other, Sue  after  snakes  and  me  to  see 
the  lay  of  the  land.  ‘Fair-sized  town 
over  there,’  I said,  when  I got  back. 
‘Got  any  snakes?’  ‘No,’  said  Sue,  sort 
of  worried;  ‘but  I’ll  get  ’em.  Don’t 
you  worry.  This  is  just  the  place  for 
snakes.  Big  rock  hill  over  there  that 
must  be  alive  with  rattlers,  but  I haven’t 
gone  there  yet.  I’ve  been  looking  for 
water  snakes  along  the  creek.  There 
ought  to  be  millions  of  them,  but  I 
didn’t  see  them.’ 

“I  ain’t  fond  of  snakes  myself,  but  I 
hadn’t  anything  else  to  do,  so  I started 
in  to  help  Sue.  She  scooted  for  the 


rock  hill  to  get  some  rattlers,  and  I went 
to  the  creek.  It  ought  to  have  been  full 
of  moccasins 
and  black 
snakes  and 
such,  but  I 
hunted  until 
sundown  and 
not  a snake ! 

Sue  came  back 
evidently  plumb  discouraged. 

“ ‘Tom,’  she  said,  ‘I  can’t  understand 
it.  That  is  the  prettiest  bit  of  God- 
forsaken rock  hill  I ever  saw,  and  it 
ought  to  be  so  full  of  snakes  they  would 
be  piled  on  top  of  each  other,  and  there’s 
not  a snake!  Not  a snake!’ 


THE  UP-TO-DATE  DOCTOR’S  HURRY  CALL. 


“‘I  can’t  understand  it, ’ I said. 
‘That  creek  is  the  snakiest  looking  bit  I 
ever  saw,  and  I didn’t  see  any  snakes.’ 
“The  outcome*  was  we  steered  clear 
of  the  small  town  and 
went  over 


THE  BORROWED  UMBRELLA. 


‘Tell  you  what,’  said  Sue,  ‘I’ve  just  got 
to  have  a snake  of  some  sort.  I’m  go- 
ing to  use  a garter  snake  if  I can’t 
get  any  other  kind.  And  right  here 
is  the  place  where  garter 
snakes  ought  to  be  by 
dozens.  Right  in  this  field.’ 
“So  over  the  wall  she 
hopped,  and  she  hunted  for 
hours,  but  not  a snake  could 
either  of  us  scare  up.  Sue 
just  sat  down  on  a stone  and 
cried.  ‘I  can’t  make  it  out !’ 
she  says.  ‘I  can’t  under- 
stand it!’  Neither  could  I. 
When  there  is  a stretch  of 
land  most  favorable  for 
snakes,  and  no  snakes  there, 
something  is  wrong. 

“ ‘Sue,’  I said,  ‘I’ll  bet 
there  is  an  epidemic  among 
these  snakes!  That’s  what’s 
up!  Something  has  killed 
them  all  off!’ 

“ ‘Fiddlesticks!’  she 
says.  ‘Snakes  don’t  have 

epidemics’ 

“Just  then  there  come 
over  the  hill  one  of  the 
natives.  I didn’t  know  what 
language  he  spoke,  so  I tried 
American.' Say, ’I  said, ‘what 
kind  of  a country  is  this 
you’ve  got  here,  anyway?’ 
“He  looked  at  me  a min- 
ute. ‘ ’Tis  a foine  counthry,  ’ 
he  said.  ‘Sorry  a foiner 
counthry  ye’ll  foind  anny- 
where  than  ould  Oireland !’ 


“I  looked  at  Sue.  ‘You’re  all  right, 
Sue,’  I said,  ‘only  St.  Patrick  beat  you 
to  the  snakes  by  about  fifteen  hundred 
years,  that’s  all !’  ” 

Did  Buster  Hear  Her? 

Mrs.  Broivn  (from  the  front  porch) — 
“Buster!  Buster  ! Oh,  Buster!” 

Little  Buster  (from  around  the  corner, 
on  third  call) — “Yessum.” 


Mrs.  Brown — “Why  didn’t  you  answer 
me  when  I called  you?” 


FAMILY  LIKENESS. 


" Whom  does  the  baby  resemble?” 

“ Well,  we  haven’t  quite  determined  yet. 
To  tell  the  truth,  none  of  our  relatives  have 
very  much  money.” 


“TALK  ABOUT  BEING  OLD,  I WAS  BORN  BEFORE  THEY  WERE  THOUGHT  OF!" 


HEI^ 


HEARJT  AND  SOLE 


WHAT  SHE  FORGOT. 


By  J.  L.  HARBOUR. 


(From  a letter  from  Mrs.  DeClarke  to  Mr.  DeClarke.) 

1 Y DEAR  Tom — I find  that, 
with  all  the  care  I took 
in  regard  to  remembering 
everything  I wanted  to 
bring  with  me  to  the  coun- 
try, there  are  a few  little  things  that  I 
have  forgotten,  and  I wish  that  you 
would  send  them  to  me  as  soon  as  you 
can.  In  the  first  place,  dear,  I find  that 
I forgot  my  rubbers  and  my  glo^e  but- 
toner  and  also  my  toothbrush.  Will  you 
please  hunt  them  up,  and  also  my  shoe 
buttoner  and  the  small  whisk  broom  that 
hangs  on  a hook  by  the  dresser  in  my 
room?  I also  forgot  my  raincoat  and  my 
two  pairs  of  entirely  new  stockings  that 
you  will  find  somewhere  about  the  house 
in  the  paper  in  which  I brought  them 
home  from  the  store.  I also  forgot 
Willie’s  rubbers  and  Katie’s  reefer, 
which  I am  sure  she  will  need,  as  the 
evenings  are  real  chilly  here.  Send  also 
my  embroidery  book,  which  I forgot, 
and  also  my  large  pair  of  scissors  and 
the  ball  of  brown  darning  cotton  that  you 
will  find  in  my  work  basket.  I find  that 
I also  forgot  to  put  in  the  copy  of 
Browning’s  poems  and  the  copy  of 
“Vanity  Fair”  I want  to  read  again  this 
summer.  1 do  think  that  the  old  school 
of  novelists  are  ever  so  much  more  in- 
teresting than  the  new,  and  I want  you 
to  put  in  the  copy  of  “Evelina”  that  I 
left,  I think,  on  the  mantel  in  the  sit- 
ting-room and  forgot  to  put  into  the 
trunk.  I also  meant  to  bring  that  un- 
finished table  cover  that  I began  to  em- 
broider at  the  beach  three  years  ago  and 
have  never  finished.  Please  send  it,  as 
I want  something  in  the  way  of  pick-up 
work  here.  Joey  has  just  reminded  me 
of  the  fact  that  I forgot  to  put  in  his 
ball,  and  Katie  is  quite  heartbroken  be- 
cause I forgot  to  put  in  her  second-best 
doll.  It  is  somewhere  in  the  nursery — 
the  doll  with  one  eye  gone  and  most  of 
the  hair.  Katie  says  it  has  on  a red 


EQUATION. 

She — “ Would  you  call  his  doing  the  figure 
eight  1 higher  mathematics  ’ ?” 

tie — “ Yep.  Pune  geometry.” 


knitted  jacket  and  nothing  else,  so  you 
will  easily  recognize  her  when  you  see 
her.  I meant  to  bring  a dozen  new  nap- 
kins to  hem,  but  I find  that  I have  for- 
gotten them.  I think  you  will  find  them 
on  a shelf  in  the  closet  in  my  room. 
Please  send  them  and  also  a spool  of  60 
white  cotton  to  hem  them  with.  The 
cotton  is  in  my  work  basket.  Sorry  to 
trouble  you,  dear,  and  I will  try  not  to 
be  so  forgetful  next  time. 

Your  loving  wife, 

Helen. 

P.  S. — I have  opened  my  letter  to  add 
that  I find  that  I have  forgotten  my  lit- 
tle case  of  homeopathic  remedies,  and  I 
shall  need  them  if  the  children  have  colds 
or  slight  fevers  here.  I shall  also  want 
my  little  alcohol  lamp  that  I find  I for- 
got to  put  in,  and  also  my  bottle  of  witch 
hazel,  which  is  almost  indispensable 
when  one  is  in  the  country  with  chil- 
dren. I needed  it  this  morning,  when 
poor  little  Joey  got  stung  by  a horrid 
bee.  H. 

N.  B. — I may  not  need  it,  but  I find 
that  I have  forgotten  the  scissors  that 
go  with  my  manicuring  set,  and  also  a 
corset  cover  I shall  need.  You  will 
probably  find  it  on  a hook  in  my  closet. 
It  has  two  rows  of  narrow  pink  ribbon 
run  through  the  embroidery.  Please 
gather  up  these  things  before  you  go 
downtown  in  the  morning  and  send  them 
by  express.  Please  stop  at  some  apoth- 
ecary store  and  get  a cake  of  white  cas- 
tile  soap  and  put  in  the  package.  I need 
it  to  wash  my  hair  and  find  I have  for- 
gotten to  bring  any. 

Where  a Past  Counts. 

«TS  THERE  no  place  for  a ‘has 
been’?” 

“Yes;  in  vaudeville.” 

“But  what  could  one  do?” 

“One  has  to  do  nothing  when  one  ‘has 
been’  connected  with  a society  sensa- 
tion. ” 


“WHAT  ARE  THE  WILD  WAVES  SAYING?” 


TITHO  IS  it  that  trains  our  young 
v ' women  to  blush  when  babies  are 
mentioned? 

How  often  have  we  seen  women  arise 
and  leave  the  room  when  some  sane  but 
simple-minded  friend  of  the  race  ex- 
pressed himself  on  the  subject  of  in- 
crease in  the  family. 

Men  have  no  shyness  in  discussing 
babies;  they  do  not 
change  the  subject  and  get 
flustered  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  as  though  some- 
thing disgraceful  were 
being  broached. 

But  men  are  brutes, 
anyhow. 

Most  of  the  poems  writ- 
ten about  motherhood  are 
from  the  pens  of  men. 

Some  one  has  tried  to 
blamethedecreasing  birth 
rate  (if  it  is  decreasing) 
on  woman  suffrage.  We 
shall  have  to  go  in  some 
other  direction  for  the 
reason. 

Men  do  not  pity  a man 
who  is  the  father  of  a 
new  baby ; women  say, 

“Poor  Mrs.  Blank!”  both 
before  and  after  the  baby 
arrives. 

The  truth  is  that  babies 
are  coming  to  be  regarded 
as  nuisances,  as  hin- 
drances to  the  enjoyment 
of  life,  and  as  subjects 
which  are  not  discussed 
in  polite  society. 


Motherhood. 

By  WILBUR  D.  NESBIT. 

It  might  be  well,  in  view  of  the  fact 
that  we  were  all  babies  at  one  time  or 
other,  to  organize  a Bless  the  Babies 
League  and  re-educate  our  womenfolks 
back  to  the  old  human  standards. 


0H 


Especially  Collectors. 

WAD  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  others  ere  others  see  us ! 


Within  Reason! 

THERE  were  some  men  in  our  land 
Who  built  up  enterprise. 

The  Supreme  Court  made  them  dissolve, 
So  business  shrinks  likewise! 

That  Would  Be  the  Limit. 

<<T  SEE  that  Teddy  is  a grandfather.  ” 
“Yes;  but  I hope  that  he  won’t 
call  the  little  stranger  an  undesirable 
citizen.” 

No  Odor  There. 

<<  TOE,”  said  the  thrifty 
^ housewife,  “don’t 
you  think  electric  light 
would  be  cheaper  than 
gas?” 

“Certainly  not,”  re- 
plied her  far-sighted  hus- 
band. “Think  of  what 
you’d  lose  in  leaks  by  not 
being  able  to  smell  the 
current!” 

A Joke. 

TF  BREVITY’S 
The  soul  of  wit. 
The  bathing  suit 
Is  surely  it. 

Exorbitant. 

First  hobo — “ ‘Eternal 
vigilance  is  the  price  of 
peace.’  ” 

Second  ditto — “ Yes; 
but  who  wants  peace  at 
that  price?” 


TIPICAL  CHARACTERS. 


'T'HE  man  who  complains 
A of  his  wife’s  extrav- 
agances never  thinks  of 
curtailing  his  own. 


WOODROX  WILSON  AND  HIS  YELLOW  STREAK. 


FANCIFUL  FALL  FASHIONS  FOR  FASTIDIOUS  FEMALES. 


FOR  THE  WELL-ROUNDED  FIGURE. 


1.  A befitting  dress  for  the  woman  of  well-rounded 
figure.  (The  circular  pattern  of  black  velvet  on  a 
ground  color  of  turkey  red  would  add  attractiveness  to 
thenatural  curves.) 


FOR  THE  TALL.  ANGULAR  WOMAN. 


2.  A startling  but  har- 
monious dress  design 
for  the  tall,  angular 
woman. 


AND  THE  WOMAN  OF  SQUARE  BUILD  WHO  PRE- 
FERS A CONTRASTY  AND  UNUSUAL  COSTUME. 


3.  A beautiful,  contrasty  square  de- 
sign that  might  be  worn  with  stun- 
ning effect  by  a lady  of  dusky  com- 
plexion. 


Fashion  magazines  throughout  the  country  devote  too  little  space  to  styles  that  are  particularly  suited  by  cut  and  design  to  the  exacting 
requirements  of  the  colored  race.  Judge  is  pleased  to  print  here  the  design  of  a costume  that,  if  worn  at  camp  meetings  and  clam- 
bakes, would  be  the  positive  center  of  attraction  and  excite  the  envy  of  the  wearer’s  best  friends 


The  Eighth  Wonder. 

By  ESTELLE  MAY  NOLTE. 

THERE  was  a girl  in  our  town, 
And  she  was  wondrous  cute; 
She  did  her  talking  with  her  eyes, 
And  let  her  lips  stay  mute. 

But  when  she  found  her  eyes 
wear  out, 

She  loosened  up  her  tongue — 
But  found,  much  to  her  horror, 
then. 

It  really  wouldn’t  run. 

Safer. 

"P\AMOCLES  saw  the  sword 
suspended  by  a hair. 

“Very  secure,”  he  remarked. 
“Suppose  it  hung  by  a wire 
that  could  be  pulled?” 

Where  To  Begin. 

0 ABROAD  and  see  the 
world!  But  before  doing 
that,  see  America.  And  before 
doing  that,  see  the  State  in 
which  you  live.  And  before 
doing  that,  see  where  the  money 
is  to  come  from. 

Mr.  Gray — “Thunder!  What 
made  the  gas  bill  so  big  this 
month?  Been  cooking  for 
boarders?” 

Mrs.  Gray — “I  guess  it  was 
heating  the  stones  for  my  new 
fireless  cooker.” 


But  He  Wasn  t.  We  Fickle  Humans. 


— John  K.  LeBaron. 


oj  LL  GIVE  j ou  a day  to  get  out  of  ’ J^'HE  MAN  who  is  always  crowing 
town‘  over  his  own  achievements  is  quick 

\ ou  must  think  I m as  slow  as  the  to  complain  when  his  neighbor’s  rooster 
town,  judge!”  does  the  same  thing. 

Many  a man  who  prides  him- 
self on  the  pedigree  of  his  horse 
doesn’t  care  a fig  about  his  own 
family  tree. 

It  is  the  occupant  of  a three- 
room  Harlem  flat  who  protests 
loudest  about  being  crowded  in 
the  subway. 

The  man  who  doubts  every 
other  man’s  fish  story  feels  in- 
sulted if  any  one  doubts  his. 

The  man  who  expects  payment 
for  the  slightest  service  is  the 
one  who  kicks  on  having  to  fee 
the  porter. 

The  woman  who  is  indignant 
if  she  is  not  given  a seat  in  a 
crowded  street  car,  when  she 
gets  a seat,  never  budges  an 
inch  to  make  room  for  another 
straphanger. 

The  man  who  has  failed  in 
everything  he  has  undertaken 
considers  himself  competent  to 
tell  how  the  government  should 
be  run. 

Some  people  get  “all  het 
up”  trying  to  keep  cool. 


LACKING  IN  FIRST  ATTRIBUTE. 
Plumber — “ Well,  what  have  ye  forgotten  ?” 

Apprentice — “ I ain’t  forgotten  nothin’,  boss.” 

Plumber — “ Ye  ain’t ! Ye  ’ll  never  make  a plumber.” 


MISSED  THE  GOAL. 

Harold — “ I just  lost  five  thousand  dollars  at  the  football  game.” 

Gerald — " Great  Scott,  man  ! Isn’t  that  a lot  to  play  on  a ball  game  ?” 

Harold — “ Oh,  I didn’t  lose  it  that  way.  You  see,  I took  Miss  Manybucks  to  the  game  and  proposed  to  her,  but  she  rejected  me." 


The  Age  of  Miracles. 


Prevalent  Phrase. 


Y"?S  THE  age  of  miracles  past?”  was 
asked. 

Replied  the  milliner:  “Indeed, 
r'  S no;  a woman  came  to  my  store 
yesterday  and  bought  the  cheaper 
of  two  hats.” 

Shouted  the  suburbanite:  “No;  my 
train  was  on  time  to-day.” 


TALKS  LOUD. 

“ Money  talks,  you  know.” 

“ Yes,  I know  ; I married  money  ” 

Answered  the  newspaper  writer:  “I 
guess  not;  I’ve  got  a quarter  in  my 
pocket  from  yesterday’s  envelope.” 
Whispered  the  flatdweller:  “It  seems  ' 
not,  for  the  janitor  is  turning  on  my 
heat  in  time.” 


Said  the  poet:  “By  no  means;  I have 
dined  to-day.” 

Voiced  the  painter:  “Hardly;  I’ve 
just  sold  a sketch.” 

Cried  the  politician:  “It  can’t  have; 
my  opponents  haven’t  printed  anything 
against  my  personal  character.” 

Grunted  the  reader:  “It  has  not;  the 
weather  predictions  in  this  morning’s 
paper  proved  correct.” 

And  so  it  went  on.  Nearly  every  one 
nowadays  still  believes  in  the  possibility 
of  miracles. 

Soft-soap  Suds. 

’□'VERY  bubble  holds  a rain- 
bow. 

Soft  soap  and  sophistry  are 
first  cousins. 

It  isn’t  always  the  best  soap 
that  makes  the  most  suds. 

It  makes  a lot  of  difference 
whether  you  spell  it  1-i-e  or 
1-y-e. 

Soft  soap  taketh  away  the 
dirt,  but  a drop  in  the  eye  stir- 
reth  up  trouble. 

It  takes  grease  to  make 
good  soap,  and  it  takes  soap  to 
wash  out  grease. 

The  man  who  does  the 
world’s  work  doesn’t  object  to 
a little  grit  in  his  soap. 

— Lida  Keek  Wiggins. 

OONG  birds  of  a feather 
sing  together. 


Since  autumn  breezes  cooler  blow, 

How  can  a fellow  fail  to  hear — 
Unsweetened  by  a “please,  ” you  know — 
That  phrase  invented  long  ago 

To  reach  the  erring  brother’s  ear? 

How  hear  it  not,  I say  again. 

Especially  since  summer’s  o’er? 

Displeasure  oft  it  soundeth,  when 
On  business  bent  one  goes  before — 

Oh,  that  harsh  phrase  by  many  men 
Right  loudly  shouted,  “ • !” 

— Charles  C.  Jinn. 

TOKE,  and  the  world  jokes  with  you; 

*■'  Knock,  and  it  lets  you  alone. 


A SLIDING  SCALE. 

“ What  size  do  you  wear,  aunty?” 

“ ’Deed,  man,  I don’t  perzactly  know.  Sixes  is 
mah  numbah,  but  sebens  nearly  kills  me.  an’  I 
nearly  always  buys  ’lebens.” 


OH,  WHAT  A DIFFERENCE! 


?|^S,VSVvrEV 

fe«N-T  B 


WF  CAN  MAKE! 
■roomfo^ou] 


SMASH 


FRESH 

MILK, 

AlWAYi! 

from  OUR 

two'  cows 


j welcome! 


[POULTRY  YARD] 


fresh  eggs l 

FOR  OUR  CITY 
FRIENDS'  FAMILIES 
HELP  YOURSELVES/ 


IF^-TO  THE 
WATERMELON 
PATCH 


PULL  Down  vines 
I WE’LL  GROW  MORE 


pWELL 

filPEC!  FT 


The  farmer’s  city  relatives  and  friends  spend  a few  weeks  of  summer 
in  the  country.  This  beautiful  country  home  scene  shows  their  arrival 
and  the  hospitality  they  expect. 


And — this  shows,  in  the  wintertime,  the 
farmer  and  his  wife  joyously  welcomed 
when  they  drop  in  to  see  cousin  John. 


MISS  BLENKINSOP'S  ANNOUNCEMENT. 

SHOPPING  FOR  MEN. 


ISS  BLENKINSOP 
begs  to  announce  to 
bachelors  and  others 
that  she  is  prepared 
to  undertake  shop- 
pi  ng  commissions 
for  those  who  are 
themselves  too  busy 
to  attend  to  their  own  purchases.  An 
experience  of  many  years’  duration  has 
peculiarly  fitted  her  for  this  field  of  en- 
deavor, and  the  promptness  and  taste 
with  which  in  the  past  she  has  filled  all 
commissions  intrusted  to  her  hands  have 
elicited  universal  admiration. 

In  the  matter  of  ties,  Miss  Blenkin- 
sop’s  taste  is  unparalleled  and  unim- 
peachable. She  has  bought  ties  for 
many  of  the  leaders  of  fashion  west  of 
the  Mississippi,  as  well  as  for  some  in 
the  eastern  districts.  She  takes  pleas- 
ure in  presenting,  with  permission,  the 
following  testimonial : 

Philadelphia,  Pa., 

June  19th,  1911. 

My  dear  Miss  Blenkinsop — The  ties 
you  purchased  for  me  in  New  York  last 
Thursday  have  arrived  safely.  They  are 
almost  too  beautiful  to  wear,  and  I have 
sent  for  my  friend,  Mr.  J.  Arthur  Dobbs, 
whose  name  is  doubtless  familiar  to  you 
as  the  leading  sunset  painter  of  America, 
to  come  here  and  pose  them  into  a study 
in  color  for  an  oil  painting,  which  I shall 
subsequently  endeavor  to  have  used  as  a 
cover  for  the  Christmas  issue  of  one  of 
our  leading  magazines.  Many,  many 
thanks  for  the  artistic  treat  you  have 
given  me  ! Very  truly  yours, 

Rittenhouse  Filbert. 


The  Blenkinsop  method  is  always  an 
assurance  of  the  highest  artistic  effect. 
She  never  fails  to  take  into  account  the 
color  scheme  of  her  patrons  in  the  mak- 
ing of  purchases,  and  correspondents  at 


THE  AIR  PLANE  IN  AFRICA. 

Giraffe — “ Here,  you,  be  careful  where  you  ’re 
going.  The  next  time  you  hit  me  in  the  neck 
I ’ll  bite  you.” 


a distance  desiring  to  avail  themselves 
of  her  services  are  requested  to  send 
photographs  of  themselves,  together 
with  a lock  of  their  hair,  in  order  to 
give  her  some  idea  of  what  would  be 
becoming  to  each  individual  patron,  as 
well  as  to  enable  her  to  avoid  undesir- 
able combinations  in  color.  The  follow- 
ing note  from  a customer  in  Skowhegan 
who  has  dressed  on  the  Blenkinsop 
method  for  several  years  is  evidence  of 
her  care  in  this  respect: 

Skowhegan,  111., 

June  3d,  1911. 

Miss  Blenkinsop: 

Dear  madam — I thank  you  for  the  red 
four-in-hand  tie  received  this  morning. 
It  harmonizes  more  perfectly  with  my 
hair  than  any  red  necktie  I have  ever 
worn.  Now,  will  you  please  send  me  on 
as  soon  as  possible  four  pairs  of  silk 
socks  which  will  look  well  at  social 
events  when  I stand  before  an  onyx 
mantelpiece,  with  one  foot  placed  non- 
chalantly on  a nile-green-plush  chair  ? 
Also,  I am  going  in  for  amateur  garden- 
ing, and  if  you  can  find  anywhere  in  the 
New  York  shops  a pair  of  overalls  that 
will  not  clash  with  the  rich  purple  of 
the  foxglove  when  I lean  on  a hoe  at 
rest  with  the  foxglove  as  a background, 
I shall  be  grateful  to  you. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Effingham  Dubbs. 

Miss  Blenkinsop  desires  to  call  atten- 
tion to  the  wonderful  line  of  attractive 
bargains  in  men’s  suspenders  now  avail- 
able in  the  market.  The  growing  habit 
in  all  parts  of  the  country  of  dining  in 
one’s  shirt  sleeves  has  given  great  im- 
petus to  the  art  suspender,  and  Miss 
Blenkinsop  will  be  glad  to  select,  and  to 


Barber — “ Er — I ’m  afraid  I can’t  quite  reach  you  on  top,  sir.” 

HELPING 


Acrobatic  stranger — “ There  ! 
HIM  OUT. 


How 's  that  ?" 


4 


send  on  approval  to  those  who  desire 
them,  charming  creations  in  these  arti- 
cles, embroidered  in  all  colors  in  forget- 
me-not  and  other  floral  patterns ; or  spec- 
imens of  the  latest  novelty,  the  motto 
gallus,  into  the  silk-elastic  bands  of 
which,  front  and  back,  have  been  woven 
delicate  sentiments  from  the  best-known 
poets,  suitable  for  festal  occasions. 

Let  Miss  Blenkinsop  buy  your  shoes. 
She  not  only  selects  the  most  swagger 
models,  but  employs  a staff  of 
breakers-in,  who  will  wear  the 
shoes  for  ten  consecutive  days 
prior  to  shipment,  thus  making 
them  easy  and  pliable  from 
the  moment  of  their  arrival. 

It  is  only  by  the  Blenkinsop 
breaking-in  system  that  all 
discomfort  arising  from  the 
wearing  of  new  shoes  can  be 
entirely  obviated — a system 
employed  by  no  other  similar 
concern  in  the  United  States 
or  abroad.  Send  your  size  at 
once  to  Miss  Blenkinsop,  to- 
gether with  a charcoal  impres- 
sion of  both  feet  on  cardboard, 
for  contour  and  reach  of  sole. 

LET  MISS  BLENKINSOP 
DRESS  YOU. 

The  Blenkinsop  Shopping 
Bureau  for  Men 
New  York  City. 

— Horace  Gaitit. 


’Tis  Ever  Thus. 

THERE  was  a man  in  our  town 

Who  thought  that  he  could  sing; 
He  tried  to  make  the  mellow  tones 
Of  birds  upon  the  wing. 

But  when  the  neighbors  heard  him  shout, 
With  all  their  might  and  main 
They  tried  to  make  him  promise  them 
He  ne’er  would  sing  again. 


A sound  investment — telephone  stocks. 


Why  Not  the  Happy  Mean? 

'C’VERY  one  is  able  to  recall  numerous 
and  indignant  complaints  from  sea- 
shore resorts  because  bathers  would  not 
wear  sufficient  apparel  to  suit  particular 
people.  The  other  day  a young  woman 
at  Atlantic  City  plunged  into  the  ocean 
for  a bath  in  a street  garb.  She  was 
taken  out  of  the  water  and  put  under 
arrest.  The  newspapers  never  told  what 
charge  was  made  against  her, 
and  it  may  be  inferred  that  in 
Atlantic  City  it  is  considered 
as  wicked  to  bathe  in  com- 
plete costume  as  it  is  in  too 
scanty  a bathing  suit  and  that 
a happy  or  possibly  an  unhap- 
py mean  is  necessary. 

For  Bachelors. 

HE  WORLD  is  so  full  of 
a number  of  maids  that 

are  dear, 

I am  sure  we  could  all  be  hap- 
py within  the  year. 

Simple  Enough. 
«WHY  DOES  the  giraffe 
have  such  a long 
neck?”  asks  the  teacher. 

‘‘Because  its  head  is  so  far 
away  from  its  body,”  hope- 
fully answers  the  boy. 


QUITE  A FEAT. 

Lady — “ Oh,  the  cute  little  thing  ! But  how  does  it  stand  on  its  tiny  feet  ?” 


